Riot of Color
by Cashmere67
Summary: "Your emotions are the slaves to your thoughts, and you are the slave to your emotions."
1. White Walls

**Head Gamemaker Manette**

* * *

Emotions are like toys.

They are pawns that are easily controlled in an intricate game of manipulation and vulnerability. They transition, changing under certain stimuli.

There are common emotions, such as happy, sad, and angry. But then, there are more _interesting_ emotions. The more interesting ones – trust, fear, love, and remorse, for example –are easily manipulated. Emotions are varied in a person, depending on the situation, and the most thrilling part about them is that they are controllable. I can control someone's emotions, simply by putting them through an obstacle or forcing them to do something they are reluctant against.

Emotions, despite seeming simple and insignificant to some, are much more interesting than you think. Some don't see why, but believe me; they are, in a psychological way. Some people act a certain way in different situations, reasons being unknown to me and psychologists. Perhaps it's for adaptability, survival, or satisfaction, but nonetheless, emotions are unpredictable.

You never know what's next with an emotional person. And that's what makes them interesting. But, of course, there is much more to emotions than just being subjective and conscious experiences. But, where is the excitement and satisfaction with simply manipulating someone's emotions?

Why can't I do something else with them? Something more… _ revolutionary?_

That's where our next topic comes into play – colors.

Colors, being the complex things that they are, are very symbolic. Colors aren't just a visual property to people; it can also represent someone's emotions. They change with emotions, some having more meaning than others.

Red is the color of danger, desire, and love. Orange is the color of determination, happiness, and creativity. Yellow is the color of intellect, energy, and joy. Green is the color of harmony, freshness, and jealousy. Blue is the color of stability, wisdom, and loyalty. Purple is the color of royalty, luxury, and ambition. White is the color of goodness, innocence, and purity. Black is the color of death, evil, and mystery.

Of course, I didn't go at this notion blindly and with little-to-no previous knowledge. Panem's finest psychologists and sociologists – mostly from the Capitol – tested this topic. They found results that I expected; environment can affect emotions, and vice versa.

Besides, what other year would be as perfect as this year – the Thirtieth Hunger Games – to put forth such an arena? An arena that is inspired by emotions and inner-feelings?

It's ingenious! _I'm_ ingenious!

Admittedly, some of my past arenas were spectacular, such as the Greenhouse for the Twentieth Games, the Lavish Palace for the Twenty-Second Games, the Poison Paradise for the Twenty-Fifth Games, and the Savannah for the Twenty-Ninth Games. But, this year, my legacy will be esteemed to an even more noble and respectable title.

Some of the well-known victors show some peculiar emotions, all in different ways. It's interesting to see how victors acted before the Games and then compare it to how they acted after. Some were arrogant before the Games, and were even more arrogant after the Games, while others were more timid before the Games, and became rather melancholy after the Games.

Despite already being an experienced Gamemaker – ten years, to be exact – I still long for more. For more power, reputation, and satisfaction. After being a Gamemaker for as long as I have been, you become greedy and vain.

You push yourself harder, trying to do better and better. Personally, I believe that this year will be my best. It will be my last Games, as ordained by the President, so I must not let this chance to impress the Capitol one last time. I must make them remember the Thirtieth Hunger Games, with the arena made by me, Head Gamemaker Manette.

The first Games I was a part of – the Twentieth Hunger Games – I attempted to do something that no one has ever seen done before. Naturally, I achieved my goal, becoming one of the most memorable and creative Gamemakers to date. Now, that I am at my tenth and final year as Gamemaker, I began to think.

I began to think more open-mindedly and creatively. When you start to develop your mind by thinking thoughts that you have never thought of before and increasing your mental capacity, the whole world opens up to you.

And I won't let this chance go amiss. This year, I will make sure that my name goes down in history.

_Just you wait. _

* * *

**District One**

Male: Fabian Verdite, 18.

Female: Aoife Cosette, 18.

**District Two**

Male: Helios Villard, 18.

Female: Cassiopeia Bryony, 17.

**District Three**

Male: Pika Charging, 13.

Female: Bishop Grande, 18.

**District Four**

Male: Orson Nautica, 17.

Female: Coleen Morisette, 18.

**District Five**

Male: Devan Halloway, 17.

Female: Alecto Marcial, 17.

**District Six**

Male: Fausten Fraser, 18.

Female: Rionach Hartley, 16.

**District Seven**

Male: Hollis Oleander, 16.

Female: Alise Cambrie, 12.

**District Eight**

Male: Blake Valenzuela, 16.

Female: Poplin Silvers, 14.

**District Nine**

Male: Joseph Echemik, 15.

Female: Augusta Daveigh, 17.

**District Ten**

Male: Jaggary Fowl, 14.

Female: Astrid Pallon, 15.

**District Eleven**

Male: Mauer Allister, 17.

Female: Avril Disoto, 15.

**District Twelve**

Male: Avis Lowery, 17.

Female: Fawn Brett, 18.

* * *

w w w. riotofcolorhg. blogspot. c o m

w w w. halloffamethg. blogspot. c o m

* * *

**Author's Note:** Another SYOT for Cashmere67!

Well, there they are. All of the tributes!


	2. Reapings: Part One

w w w. riotofcolorhg. blogspot. c o m

w w w. halloffamethg. blogspot. c o m

* * *

**Adele Prescott  
25 Years Old – Victor of the 22****nd**** Hunger Games  
District One Mentor**

* * *

_I wasn't supposed to win._

I wasn't chosen to volunteer, I wasn't trained as well as the others, I wasn't ready. It wasn't supposed to be, it was supposed to be someone else. After I was reaped, I waited for the girl to volunteer, but she didn't. She didn't live up to her expectations, so I had to suffer.

I had to take part in the Games, not her.

I might have won, but it doesn't feel like it. I still feel guilty about being in the Games, that I took her spot, but if she wanted it, she would have volunteered. She made some big spectacle that she would volunteer, that she would win for District One, but she never did.

She didn't keep her promise.

So I had to suffer.

And even the mentors see this. At the time, Radiance was angry with me, saying that I ruined it for District One that year. It wasn't supposed to be me there; it was supposed to be someone else. She did nothing to help me, so she revoked being my mentor. She put it on Pryce, who wasn't that happy with having to be with me.

He didn't want me either. No one did.

No one wanted to mentor me after I was reaped. It was all for something that wasn't even my fault.

I was all on my own then, and to this day, I still am.

But, I won. Somehow, I went against all odds, and won. In retrospect, I shouldn't have been the victor, the other trained Careers should have been. Even my District partner was better off than me, but it all worked out for me in the end. My allies took out my other allies, the tributes took out the other tributes, and the mutts took out the last ones.

I didn't have to kill once. I didn't have to get my hands dirty or run for my life once.

It all seemed too easy. And still, I don't know how or why I won.

Radiance said the Capitol wasted their time by letting me survive, Pryce said I am better off dead, and Glass says I'm just lucky. I don't understand the situation completely, but I don't want to. What happened, happened, and I don't want to reflect on the Games that much anymore. But, being with the three other mentors makes it hard. They constantly bring it up, ridicule me publicly, and ostracize me.

At some points, I wish I never won.

I would wish I was never reaped, but that'd be asking for too much.

If none of this ever happened, I wouldn't have to be here, having to deal with the three of them. Not even the escorts or Peacekeepers appreciate me much. All of their words just put pressure on me, making the whole mentoring process even more challenging and taxing.

After the Twenty-Second Games – the year I won – they put me right into mentoring. They wanted to prove something to me; how hard mentoring is, how much it can affect you, and how much it hurts when someone the Training Center picks to volunteer dies. Tributes from One died year after year, even with Glass being the other mentor for One. After his son died in the Twentieth Games, he's fallen apart.

He's slipping up, and now, District One has me.

When the First Quarter Quell came around, where the District had to choose their tributes, Radiance and Pryce made me choose two girls and two boys that the District had to choose from. I don't think it was supposed to be that way, I thought the District would have been able to pick anyone they wanted, but it was rigged. It was all rigged.

I didn't know what I was doing, and it clearly reflected. I picked two boys, one was sixteen years old and the other was seventeen, and for the girls, I picked a fifteen year old and a sixteen year old. I regret those decisions entirely, for picking tributes so young and so unprepared. I was put under a lot of pressure and I pick stupidly. If I had thought it out, with some help from the others, then maybe things would have turned out differently.

But, after I put forth my four choices, the District was shocked. They had no idea who to pick, since none of them were really prepared or willing to be in the Games. I don't know what I was doing, but I did it anyway. I made a huge mistake, and I still can't forgive myself to this day. The sixteen year old boy and the fifteen year old girl were chosen, and in the Games, they both died in the Bloodbath.

They were killed nearly at the same time. And it was my entire fault. Every single part of it.

"Ready to mentor this year again, Pryce?" Radiance sneers, placing her hand on Pryce's shoulder.

"What about you, Radiance? Are you planning a tribute home this year? Or are we just going to watch another pair because of our mishaps?" Pryce banters, both of them giggling at each other.

"Wait, wait!" Radiance throws her head back, barely containing her laughter. "I have an idea!"

"What is it, Radiance? I'm sure it's genius!"

"How about Adele mentors? How about we put District One on her shoulders, letting her deal with both tributes this time around?" Radiance jeers, glancing over her shoulder at me. "What do you think, Adele? Are you up to the challenge?"

"It's not funny," I mutter, knowing they won't listen.

"It's hilarious, isn't it, Pryce?"

"Almost as hilarious as the thought of Adele's victory."

Radiance and Pryce begin to banter back and forth, occasionally looking back at me, only making them laugh and more. They keep going until the sound of the door opening shushes them, both of their attention looking to see who's coming in. I sit there, still looking at the ground, trying to block them out from my head.

"Cut it out, guys," Glass berates, going right in between the two of them, separating them. "Stop fooling around."

"We're only having a little fun, Glass. No need to get all worked up," Radiance pouts, spinning around, her hair hitting Glass in the back.

Radiance and Pryce sit down at the table in front of Glass, and Glass looks over, gesturing for me to come over with them. The table is rather large, and I choose to sit at the end of it, a few seats from Pryce and Radiance. The reaping starts only in a few minutes, so I'm not sure what Glass wants to talk about since we won't be here for much longer. I lay my head down on my arms on the table, letting myself drift off for a little bit. The sounds of their voices help me drift off, letting my mind roam freely.

"Come on, Adele. It's time."

Lifting my head up, I see Glass in front of me, waiting for me to come with them. Radiance and Pryce are already gone, and as much as I don't want to, I have to go. I have to somewhat pacify District One, even though they will never again be happy with me. As we make our way outside, I see the faces of the audience all staring at me, and it just makes me jealous.

It makes me jealous that they're all standing there, not having to be a mentor. Only if they knew what it's like to be a mentor.

"And here they are: Our beloved mentors!" The escort chirps, holding out her arm towards us.

As the four of us sit down in our assigned, me being on the furthest end from the stage since I've won the most recently, I instantly become uncomfortable because I'm next to Pryce. He ignores me completely, positioning his body away from me. He doesn't even look at me once. The escort's already at the female's bowl, and before I realize her even taking a card out, she reads the name out loud.

"Flare Rodoir."

Before any girl that could be her moves, another one comes flying out from the eighteen-year old section, her long, light brown hair flowing behind her. She makes it to the stage quickly, the sun reflecting off her tanned skin. She walks up the stage gracefully, eyeing the mentors in front of her attentively. If her looks are anything like her personality, then I'm sure Radiance already has mentoring in mind.

"Aoife Cosette."

_She's just another one._

"Congratulations, Aoife!" The escort chirps, already at the male's bowl. "Now for the males!"

Before the escort can pick a card out of the bowl, a boy, who's apparently a little eager to get the stage, is already making his way down. He has a wide, bright smile on his face, almost tripping over himself just to get to the stage. He climbs up the stage, immediately standing right next to Aoife.

_He's just another one._

"Fabian Verdite," he says, holding his out to her. "The pleasure's all mine."

"Aoife Cosette," she replies, gripping his hand in hers.

_Another Radiance._

_Another Pryce._

_Another person who will treat me like shit. _

Both of them are exactly what District One puts forth every year. The same appearance, the same personality, the same volunteers. They're all duplicates of each other. All of them.

Radiance and Pryce whisper to each other, judging them already. They're judging them like they judged me. They know nothing about them, and neither do I, but I can tell that this year is going to be a loss for District One.

This year, I hope I'm not mentoring. Then, they can deal with the both of them on their own, without me helping. Without my words of advice, deemed nonsense and foolish by all of them. Without another pitiful attempt by me to bring home another victor, ending in a huge fiasco. This year, it won't be my fault.

They will finally learn that they, too, can't bring home a victor every year.

As bad as it sounds, I want District One to not win. I _hope_ we don't win. Just to prove something to all of them.

I want to rub it in their face that they aren't as good as mentors as they think they are.

I might not have been able to bring anyone home, but I can assure they can't either.

And they'll learn that soon enough.

* * *

**Nashira Vire  
23 Years Old – Victor of the 25****th**** Hunger Games  
District Two Mentor**

* * *

"Role-call: Tyson Recknor."

"Here," he says, lifting his chin upwards.

"Marcel Petrone."

"You called?" He banters, taking another sip from the tall glass.

"Serpentine Nott."

"Mhm," she hums, her eyes locked onto the screen covering the Reaping stage and audience.

"Nashira Vire."

"Present, sir," I say, bringing my hand to my forehead, saluting him.

Placing my hands on the table, folding them over each other, I adjust myself in the chair, straightening my back. I look around, crinkling my nose at the distasteful way the other mentors are presenting themselves. Whether you're in public or not, following etiquette and acting like a mentor is vital. Watching the television, drinking some colorful liquid, or just fiddling with your hands is completely out of order. I shake my head, trying to hide my disgust with them and the way they carry themselves.

Being a mentor for more years than me is no excuse to act like a slob.

The Capitol had assigned this man after Tyson won, to coordinate the victors, as well as mentors, to homes, to select time slots at the Training Center, and so forth. The man – Eryx Callis – does his job well, by speaking to us each personally to work with our schedule. I'm always the first one to volunteer myself to travel to the other Districts for public spectacles with the other victors, or to train teenagers at the Training Center or just simply walk around the District, attracting public attention.

After you win, your life isn't the same. Everything is organized, ordained, and everything becomes specifics.

Eryx passes out a few pieces of papers, and I crinkle my noise in distaste again as Marcel casually disregards the papers and uses them as a drink coaster. Eryx is used to all of this by now, so he just rolls his eyes, continuing on to Tyson who's next to him. Everyone here has gotten to know each well, especially Tyson and Marcel. Serpentine is more reserved and distant than the rest of them, but I don't blame her.

I wouldn't want to get involved with Tyson or Marcel either; they're such distractions.

But, then there's me: The Victor of the Twenty-Fifth Games, or the First Quarter Quell.

If I had to pick anyone that I get along with most, it's probably Eryx. Not Tyson, Marcel, or even Serpentine; none of them are up to my standards. None of them follow the etiquette and have the mannerisms that every victor should have. They're sloppy, especially since some of them are approaching old age. They're slipping, not bringing in any District Two mentors in a while.

This year will be different, though. I'll be taking over Serpentine's job.

After she won the Seventeenth Games, she went into mentoring immediately. Whether she understood it completely or not is still a question to me, since she only brought a victor eight years later. And she really didn't mentor me; it was Tyson, and believe me when I say this, he didn't do much. He always compared every tribute he mentored to his son, to show them what he had done wrong with his son and what he doesn't want to happen to the tributes.

I don't blame him about being a little upset about his son, but it's time to move on. It's been time to move on.

"Just some information on some possible volunteers," Eryx states, shuffling the papers in front of him.

I flip through the pages, scanning the information for some stand-out names. I usually prefer when the volunteers are already decided before hand, but that hasn't worked out too well. It's all disorganized and no one really follows the rules or follows what we say. Besides, it's usually just me who makes the decisions, with some assistance from Marcel, if anyone. Tyson is too nonchalant and Serpentine is just indifferent to the whole process.

And, in a way, I like it more that I can do my own thing.

Besides, if I was chosen by the District to participate in the First Quarter Quell, I can do this on my own.

They had to have faith in me, and I can't let them down. Now that I am victor, I must fulfill their needs and desires just as much as before the Games. Even after you win, people still want more from you.

But, I like challenges. It makes me feel that I'm needed here, that without me, District Two wouldn't function. It's true in some aspect, especially because the other victors barely have any clue with what they're doing. Eryx can only do so much, so at least one of us has to step up.

Luckily, they have me. For one thing, I know what I'm doing.

"As if any of you have read it," Eryx murmurs, eyeing all of us up-and-down. "Reapings are starting soon, anyway."

I stand in a refined manner, pushing out my chair first, and then standing back up. I push the chair back under the table, placing my hands on the back of the chair, waiting for my fellow mentors to follow me. Figures; none of them do. They all stand there, still in the same positions they've been in. Eryx looks at me, a smirk on his face. I smile back, beginning to walk to the front of the Mayor's Building. Outside, the Reapings are taking place.

Outside, my first pair of tributes is waiting for me.

As I approach the doors, I fix my female dress-suit one last time, making sure that I am fully presentable to all of District Two. I look myself up-and-down one more time, smiling at how classy I look. You have to look the part, too, not just play it. The large metal doors open in front of me, the sight of the audience in front of me making me feel something that I haven't felt before. This is it.

I glance behind me, hoping to see the others following me, but I know they won't. They don't do anything, really. They're so useless now, and that is why I have to redeem District Two this year. Walking forward, I make sure to look back and forth through the crowd, sharing my attention to everyone.

Public showings aren't as easy as you think.

I stand in front of my chair for a moment, giving one last look around the audience, and then I sit down. There are three open chairs next to me, all with a little placard on them saying what seat is reserved for her, and I just choose to get over it. Those not doing their job are the least of my problems right now.

"Welcome, welcome, District Two!"

Apparently, I missed the introductory video of the Dark Days and the inauguration of the Hunger Games, and honestly, that doesn't bother me. I've recited it so many times and I can tell you every piece of information you need to know like it's an instinct to me. I took it into my own regard to learn all of this before I was chosen, and afterwards, I expanded my knowledge on it even more. You should at least know the history of your District and the Games before you put yourself forth into the world.

"Let's get down to business, shall we?" The escort waves her hand, stumbling a little on her excessively tall heels.

The escort, Iona, stumbles over towards the female bowl. It almost saddens me that she even bothers going to the reaping bowl, since every year – or most – there is a volunteer. It's a waste of time, to me. If a girl were to be reaped, I would still mentor her, but I would not feel as comfortable.

A reaped tribute does not have that extra edge that a volunteer does.

Dipping her hand into the bowl, she doesn't waste any time, picking one up quickly and opening it immediately. She stares at the piece of paper for a while, and the sight of her not being able to read as promptly as she should makes me want to go up there and do it. She's just giving District Two a bad name; illiterates, now.

"Rena Harter," Iona states, stuttering a little bit. "Rena Harter – there we go! Rena Harter, please come on up!"

It brings a smile to my face that the reaped girl doesn't even reveal herself; the volunteer takes action right away. Down the center of the aisle, a rather tall girl, but with a petite frame, saunters forward. Her brown hair is all disheveled, and she doesn't really have much expression on her face; it's more of a peculiar look, as if she's watching everyone as she walks past them.

I won't judge – she could be the next victor for District Two.

As the girl walks up to the stairs onto the stage, she pushes her hair out of her face, her arms remaining slung to her side. She doesn't reach for the microphone or to greet Iona at all, and that's something we'll have to talk about. Manners and the proper way to interact with someone are vital for a victor to know; it's not all about killing and the sole aspect of victory. She goes to the front of the stage, taking it into her own liberty to say her name without a microphone.

"Cassiopeia Bryony."

And then, that's it from her. She retreats, standing directly behind the escort. The escort moves to the side, but wherever she goes, Cassiopeia follows her. This girl really is something, which interests me greatly. For some reason, now that I have a better look of her, she seems familiar too, but I am not sure as to why. I'm sure the other mentors, since they are older and more knowledgeable of the citizens of Two, would know something about her.

Iona walks over to the male's reaping bowl, with Cassiopeia following right behind her, and Iona quickly gets the male's card as well. Before she can even read the name off of it, the sound of heels clicking against the floor silences everyone. Down the aisle comes a broad-shouldered boy, very poised and well-kept. He doesn't seem to be affected by anything surrounding him, only wearing a smug grin on his face.

"Helios Villard," he states, walking up the staircase, his voice very solemn. "And I will be representing District Two this year."

Helios stands next to Cassiopeia, who only glares at him, her lips curling into a smile. Helios looks down at her, broadening his shoulders at her. They both look away from each other, but Cassiopeia takes one more look, staring at the features on his face.

"Here you have it, District Two!" Iona shrieks, the excitement in her voice scaring everyone in the audience. "The tributes who will represent District Two this year – Cassiopeia Bryony and Helios Villard!"

Examining them up and down, I find myself smirking. Something about them – about both of them – is rather intriguing. I can't put my finger on exactly, but they have an edge. An edge that will help them win.

An edge that I can work with.

I can see it now already. The President shaking the next District Two's victor hand, congratulating them on all the work they can do. And, in a way, I would have helped them. I would have brought them to victory. I would have won with them, giving them the tips and advice they need in order to win.

If I can win once, I can win again.

* * *

**Jericho Powell  
31 Years Old – Victor of the 16****th**** Hunger Games  
District Three Mentor**

* * *

"I finally think I'm ready to mentor, Jericho," he says, the eagerness in his voice showing that he is, in fact, not ready.

I pause before answering him, knowing that Nora will have something to say back to him. She always has something to say to him, no matter what it is. A question, comment, concern, threat, or anything else, really. Nora's a big-mouth, something that she's always been, even before winning.

"You're still young, Everett," she says, her words making me think that maybe she is genuinely concerned for him. "Once you hit the age where you know half of the stuff I do, then maybe you can mentor."

There's the Nora we all love.

"Leave him alone, Nora," I berate, knowing that Everett is still impressionable and is probably offended. "He just wants to get it over with."

"Well, he shouldn't go at blindly," she scoffs, resting her head against the back of the chair. "I'd rather not let District Three go through a bigger fiasco with a child mentor."

"Because you've done so well, right?" Everett retorts, clenching his fist.

I don't blame him for getting so aggravated with Nora. She's always been up on her pedestal lately and it gets worse every year. Even though District Three hasn't brought home many victors, she thinks it's not her fault. It isn't necessarily her fault, but it's just the fact that she doesn't care is what bothers me. She has no second-thought about the Games she's witnessed where another pair from Three die. I care, but I've convinced myself that I can't do much about it.

Still doesn't mean I'm not hurt by it, though.

I just don't want Everett to have to go through that so soon. He's only won three years ago – the Twenty-Seventh Hunger Games – at the age of fifteen. He was so young, and I'm still shocked that he even won. That year, Nora didn't even bother with the female, knowing that she'll die in the Bloodbath. Of course, she did, and that only made Nora more arrogant. Nora now thinks that she can predict when someone will die. Her delusion is another thing that bothers me. Always thinking that she's right, that she's the best one in the room, that she will live never die.

She'll learn eventually.

"Let's go, Everett," I say, gesturing for him to follow me.

I guide him through the doors, shutting them behind us. He stands there, waiting for me to direct him somewhere else, and I just go into the next closest room. I shut the door, hoping that Nora won't follow us. She probably won't; she probably thinks we're talking about her because it's just always about her.

"I'm sorry about that," I say, feeling genuinely sorry about everything Nora does to him.

Everett shrugs, playing with some decorative piece on the table. "It really doesn't bother me."

"She can be a big handful, I can tell you that," I chuckle, thinking of all the bad things Nora has ever said to me. "You just learn to deal with her."

"I told you, it doesn't bother me," he repeats, knocking over the piece on the table. He picks it back up, beginning to play with it with his fingers, looping them in and out of the open circles of it.

"I know you say that, Everett, but I can tell…"

"It doesn't bother me," he interjects, his voice a little more serious and edgy. "Does it bother you?"

"I guess."

"It shouldn't."

"And what is that?"

"Because she'll die eventually."

I go silent, taking his words into consideration. From time to time, Everett actually helps me, rather than me helping him. Just because I'm older doesn't mean much. Now, he's just as wise and knowledgeable, but in a different way. He knows what he's talking about.

Even if it's a morbid thought.

Nora will die eventually.

After Everett won, I remember I tried to talk to him. Talk to him about the deaths or the people he's killed, but he didn't want to talk about it. He seemed almost undisturbed or unaffected by it all. It was weird at the time, but now I get it. He's accepted death, whether he wants to or not, and I guess I have to too. I dwell on all the tributes we lost occasionally, while Everett doesn't even mention it to me once.

It's one way to cope with everything.

"So, can I really not mentor this year?" He asks, placing down the item he's been playing with.

"I'd prefer you not to."

"Give me one good reason?" He asks, with a joking tone in his voice, but I know he's being serious. I don't know why he wants to mentor so badly.

"You're too young," I blurt out, saying the first thing that came to my mind. "You're not ready."

"When will I be, then? After I witness two more tributes die? Four? Six?"

"I can't tell you what to do, Everett, and you know that. I'm only advising you not to mentor yet," I concede, giving up any attempt I tried to convince him otherwise.

"When was the first time you mentored?" He asks, and I'm not sure if he's curious or just wants to prove a point.

"Right after I won, of course. I was the first male Three got, so I had to, really," I answer him, being completely honest. "I didn't have much of a choice."

"How was your first year of mentoring, then?"

I close my eyes, trying to bring back the memory of that first year I mentored. Nora was younger, only at the age of twenty-three, and I was about seventeen. I didn't know what to expect, how to act, or what to think. It was all new to me and I didn't know how to grasp the situation.

At the time, all I thought about was winning, not about mentoring. That was one of my mistakes.

"We're different people, so we will all act and think differently," I say, avoiding the question.

Sighing, he rolls his eyes. "Whatever, whatever."

There's a knock at the door, and I expect it to be Nora, but the voice is most definitely not hers. It's a Peacekeeper, telling us that it's time for the Reapings. From where we are, I can hear the video about the Dark Days and Games playing, something that I tend to avoid. Everett still likes to watch it, but I should try to get him away from that habit.

What they say in the video is nothing like what it really is.

"You ready?" I ask, opening the door, letting Everett go first.

"More ready than I'll ever be," he says, the same eagerness in his voice as before.

Just as we exit the room, Nora comes behind us, humming a tune. She walks right past us, without even a smile or a glance. Everett looks up at me, laughing a little, and I can't help but laugh back. She tries so hard, she really does. One thing I do like about Nora now, though, is the entertainment she provides us. She never fails to make me laugh or hate myself in one way or another.

Walking through the doors, we're on the stage, the silence making me feel unwanted. Nora's already sitting in her seat, the one closest to the escort, and I sit next to her, followed by Everett to my left.

"Who's ready to pick the tributes, District Three?" The escort screams into the microphone, and then pointing it towards the audience, waiting for some response.

Nora laughs a little, making me roll my eyes. The escort walks over towards the girl's bowl, and once she gets to it, she wraps her around the bowl, lowering her head on it. She whispers into it, saying something, but I can't hear it. Nora just laughs again.

She dips her hand in the bowl, picking up the first one in it. "Do we have a," she starts, taking a big pause. "Bishop Grande!"

Without much of a pause, a girl stands in the aisle, slowly walking towards the stage. She's biting her lip, her eyes getting a little teary. For some reason, the name seems familiar. I think she's from one of the wealthier families of the District, with her whole appearance, name, and everything else. She's probably around Everett's age or near that.

Bishop walks up the stairs, her bouncing off her shoulders with every stop. She stands a few inches from the escort, and the escort pulls her a little closer. The escort goes to the male bowl, grabbing one more quickly than last time; she doesn't her whole ritual of whispering to it either.

"How about – Pika Charging!"

This time, there is a bigger pause. I can see a Peacekeeper go through each kid, looking for one that looks like he might be him. After a minute or so, a boy, small in frame, begins to walk to the stage. He looks around him, his face going red. He's shaking and playing with his hands.

"Come on up here, Pika Charging!"

Pika looks behind him, the sight of a Peacekeeper coming towards him making him rush a little more. He gets to the stage, walking up the stairs shakily. Standing next to him, Bishop gives him a peculiar look, a perplexed expression on her face. Great, a pair that won't even get along this time around.

That'll only make thing harder.

And, trust me; it's hard enough.

Nora has the girl and I have the boy. Bishop and Pika.

District Three's chances of victory now lie in their hands, and I don't know if they'll be able to do it.

I've learned not to predict anything this early on.

Looks can deceive.

* * *

**Mags  
30 Years Old – Victor of the 18****th**** Hunger Games  
District Four Mentor**

* * *

Fifty-seven tributes.

One mentor.

And all they call it is "collateral damage."

That's all it is to the Capitol – collateral damage. They're loses that are intended in this case, that are inevitable in order to reach a certain goal. But, the usually term means that loses are unintended in order to reach an intended point. Collateral damage doesn't mean the death of intended targets, but to the Capitol, it does.

Why?

Because it's warped. The whole concept of the Games, the government, the officials and executives. Whenever they cover the Games and whenever they film documentaries on the victor's lives, they deem the lost children just collateral damage. The death of teenagers is insignificant to the Capitol. They don't really care how the Games turn out; they want just to scare the Districts.

They just want to prove their superiority and dominance. And, if they have to kill a few children along the way, they'll do it. But, unfortunately, I just have to go with it. By winning, I gave them what they want. I wasn't going to die for some cause, to become some heroine, to die to show the Capitol that they don't control me.

I'm not that foolish. Death isn't something to toy with.

"Another year," Atlas says, his voice monotonous.

"Another year, indeed," I repeat, my voice nearly a whisper.

I know it must be a lot for Atlas to take on, seeing as he only won two years ago, but I am trying my best to help him. In other Districts, once you win, you're on your own, but I don't believe in that theory. Once you win, you become a victor and a mentor, among other victors and mentors. You should all work together then, giving each other advice and helping each other out. Before I mentored Atlas to victory, I wasn't on my own.

I had Zachary.

But, after the Twentieth Games, I didn't.

He drank himself to death.

After he lost his best-friend, the eighteen year old volunteer for that year's Games, that drove him insane. He locked himself inside as soon as the young man died, smuggling all of the alcohol he could inside. He drank, and drank, and drank, never stopping. He was inside his home for about a week, until the Peacekeepers decided to do something. They found him, an open bottle of alcohol in his hands, dead on the spot.

To me, they should have checked on him earlier.

Why they took so long, I don't know. There was no way in for me, as much as I banged on the window and door, pleading to come inside. He didn't let me inside, so I stayed outside. I feel guilty, in a way. I just didn't understand it. He's witnessed the death of his own tributes before, and why this one particular boy meant so much to him, I just don't know. I know that he used to train with the boy, but that's about it. I don't know much more than that. After he died, I felt obligated to bring home another victor. I felt pressured, and that's why I slipped up for a few years.

I thought I was being a better mentor, but apparently not. Until Atlas, that is. The latest victor District Four has is the victor of the Twenty-Eight Games, which is ten years later than mine. We went ten years without another one, almost like what happened to Zachary after his. He won the Fourth Games, while I won the Eighteenth Games; a fourteen year difference.

I don't know how he did it still, but I'm getting a clue.

Just accepting it. Not to grieve or regret.

It's hard, but I'm getting better at it. Or least, I'm _trying_ to get better at it.

"Just you and me this year, again," Atlas says, his face expressionless.

I nod, a little uncertain of what to say. Last year was our first year mentoring together, and well, it didn't go too well. We thought we had this whole idea planned out, that at least one of our tributes would make it home, but neither of them did. The girl died in the Bloodbath and the boy placed Eleventh. To worsen everything, they were killed by their own allies. It was a whole mess of events in the arena, and we both feel that it was our faults. We gave them a set of plans and ideas to abide by, and clearly, none of it worked. As soon as we saw that, our perspectives changed.

We can't let that happen anymore.

We are mentors. We are supposed to be helping them, not getting them killed.

"Any idea on what we should do this year?" Atlas asks, desperate for an answer.

Shrugging, I say the first thing that comes to my mind. "We'll talk to the District One and Two mentors, I guess. We'll make some agreement with them and their mentors, so that last year's events don't happen again."

Atlas shakes his head, agreeing with what I'm saying. "Any idea who will mentor this year?"

"From One, probably Glass and Radiance. And from Two, I heard the Quarter Quell girl will do it this year, and I assume Tyson will," I reply, trying to think of who we'll get along with most.

Atlas chuckles, thinking the same thing I am. "We'll stay away from Radiance and whoever the One girl will be; I can only imagine what lies and delusion Radiance will feed her tribute. Glass might be down for a secret alliance, and maybe even Tyson."

"If that's who's even mentoring," I interject, trying not to get our hopes up.

Our conversation's cut short from the sound of knocking on the door. Two Peacekeepers open the door, the escort coming through it. This year, we got a new male escort, since last year's had some incident back in the Capitol. Some of the glitter from this man's suit falls to the ground, the smell of his perfume making my head hurt. He holds both of his hands out, shaking more glitter off his arms.

"I'm Arion, the one and only," he says, his high-pitched voice quivering with every word.

Atlas and I hesitantly shake his hand, and I really don't think Arion understands what a greeting is. You're not supposed to use both hands to shake; shows how smart the Capitol people are. And he's an escort, too, so that makes it even better. Just as airheaded as last year's was.

"You are, let me guess – Cynthia, yes?" He says, looking intently at me. "And you must be Duke!"

"Wrong Districts," Atlas scoffs, gesturing for me to follow him out the doors.

We walk down the hallway silently, looking directly ahead at the doors in front of us. Just as we approach them, the doors open, two Peacekeepers standing right outside. Atlas nods, greeting them, and I give them a sweet smile. Anyone who plans on watching the Reaping are already there, and Atlas and I take our seats. We sit right next to each other, and Atlas holds my hand, the feeling making me feel a little more hopeful for this year.

"Hello, District Eleven!" The voice shrieks, but Arion isn't in sight. The audience goes quiet, and I hear some mumbling in the hallway, probably a Peacekeeper correcting him. "I mean District Four! Hello, District Four!"

Arion comes through the doors, waving his hands uncontrollably. He begins to hum a tune, trying to incite the crowd somehow, but none of them move, all of the audience's face still expressionless and solemn. On the screen behind Arion, the same video that plays every year begins, repeating what every citizen already knows. Arion continues to talk and hum, but no one is listening, but I'd rather listen to his nonsense.

Barely anyone realizes the video has ended, since Arion has distracted everyone and has been speaking over it the whole time. He sashays over to the male reaping bowl, swaying his whole body back and forth, still humming that same tune. Usually, the escorts pick the female first, but this one seems too flamboyant to favor the girls this year. As he steps up to the bowl, he dips his hand in, taking at least ten cards.

One by one, Arion drops them onto the ground, until he has one left. "Kiernan DuPonte!"

As the boy, Kiernan, steps up, Arion makes a few noises, saying out loud how attractive he is. As the boy walks into the aisle, my eyesight is drifted away, going to another boy who's running down the outer-aisle. He's a tall, tanned boy, with a fit body that makes Arion compliment him as well. As he gets to the stage, he looks at me and Atlas, and he smiles. His smile resonates in my mind, the sight of it giving me hope.

"And what is your name, you handsome boy?" Arion asks, nearly flirting with him.

"Orson Nautica," he says, walking up the stairs. "Orson Nautica."

Orson makes his way next to the escort, standing still and all stiff. He doesn't flinch or even look at the female's reaping bowl, keeping his head straight forward. Arion dips his hand in the girl's bowl, a little more careless this time, picking one at random. If he acts this way in the Capitol, I'm sure he'll convince all his Capitol friends to sponsor Orson. Some infatuation he has already, and I'm sure he won't feel the same towards the girl.

"Bellaya–"

Midsentence, Arion's nonchalant tone is cut off by the rush of a girl through the aisle. This one reaches the stage more quickly than Orson did, her dark brown hair barely keeping up with her behind her. She pants a little as she comes up the stairs, reaching for the microphone immediately.

"The name's Coleen Morisette," she says, recollecting herself after sprinting up here. "Don't underestimate me."

I rest my back further back in my chair, feeling Atlas hand slip away from mine. He gives me an approving smirk, knowing that we feel the same way about the tributes this year. I've mentored for a while now, and I know what to look out for. Even Atlas has an idea of what a stand-out tribute is. If everything works out in the way we want it, maybe District Four can have a victor this year.

Maybe District Four can redeem itself among the Career Districts.

But, we now from past experiences that we shouldn't get our hopes up. That doesn't mean we won't still help, though, to the best of our ability. We're aware of what we can do for the tributes, but we have to make sure that they take it all into consideration. In the arena, they're on their own. They can either listen to us or not.

In the arena, they'll be without our mentoring and guidance. The only thing we'll be able to do then is just sit back, watch, and hope for the best. If these two are anything like they seem like, District Four might be able to do it this year.

Throughout the years, District Four has fought for its right to be deemed a Career District, to bring home more than one victor, and even though in the past few years we've been over looked, that'll all change.

Zachary, Atlas, and I.

The only mentors District Four seen so far.

Who knows, maybe Orson or Coleen will be an addition.

It won't be easy, though. At this point in our lives, nothing ever is.

Especially not the Hunger Games.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Okay, first off: I do apologize if your tribute wasn't accepted. This time around, I wanted to change things up, and I was look for new authors to submit, new tributes, etc. Check the tribute list back in Chapter One. Don't take it personally and I didn't do it on purpose, I was just being more picky and specific this time. This probably won't be my last SYOT, though, so don't feel too bad about it.

So, this is the first chapter!

I dislike Reapings, really. I just dislike them so much. Why? Well, for many reasons. I feel that not all characters' reapings are requisite for the development of the character, and sometimes, they just become repetitive, mundane, and cumbersome. Plus, I think twelve reaping chapters is a little excessive; I, myself, lose interest and find myself skimming through them. So, I'm sure other people do that as well.

Anyway, I'll be doing this type of Reaping chapter for Districts 5-8 and then 9-12.

I know it's not so much revolving around the tributes, but the whole District and the mentors' lives. That's the point. I want to develop the District and the mentors, rather than giving the tribute away all ready. I find it pointless and silly to show the tribute's whole personality and background in the reapings, so I'd rather give depth to the District, mentors, escorts, etc. and then work on the tributes at a later time.

Questions? I think so.

_What tributes stood out to you? Mentors? _

_What was your favorite District in this chapter?_

And, the blogs are on the top (and also on my profile). The first one is the tribute blog and the second is the mentor blog.

_What tributes and mentors stand out to you just from the blog?_


	3. Reapings: Part Two

w w w. riotof colorhg. blogspot . c o m

w w w. hallof famethg. blogspot. c o m

* * *

**Cynthia Dalles  
33 Years Old – Victor of 12****th**** Hunger Games  
District Five Mentor**

* * *

'What is the most valuable piece of advice you can give a tribute?' Is usually what people ask me.

I just say one thing, which could mean the world to some or mean nothing to some. It's just an easy way to help yourself out, to gain extra knowledge, to be able to do something that others won't. Of course, you'd have to do it before you're reaped, simply because you won't have enough time in the Capitol to do it.

My piece of advice is to watch all of the past Games. All of them.

They're good to watch carefully, picking up new tips all on your own. But, it has to be on your own time. The District will gladly lend you any vide of any Game, simply because they just want to spread the idea of them. When I turned fifteen, that's when I started watching them all. Every week, I would watch a new one, over and over again. That is why I advise anyone who is around fourteen or fifteen to start watching the Games.

Then, you'll have background knowledge and can use the Training Days as practice.

I know, I know, it's a silly idea. Why watch the Games when they can be doing something else? Like providing for their family? Getting an education or working for the District? Well, it's better to over-prepare yourself and to prepare for the worst possible situation – getting reaped. I might have been reaped, but it didn't really feel like it.

I didn't feel like some regular reaped tribute. My experience was different.

I knew how to kill, but I really never acted upon it. I only killed when I had to, when I had to survive, never killing just to kill. Even after all of these years, I remember everything about my kills. Their age, appearance, District, allies, and anything else my mind picked up on.

My first kill was the male from District Eight. He was a small boy, a small frame and stature to match it. He had a limp in his left leg, and that's what I took advantage with. He was on a hill, and I chased him, knowing he had the supplies I needed; some medicine and whatnot. I chased him up the rocky hill, watching him stumble every few steps. I wasn't planning on killing him, I was hoping he'd fall and kill himself or something, but it didn't turn out like that. Once he raised his arm, letting go the knife in it, I knew I had to act then. The throw was awful, really, and was easy to dodge. After that knife, he had nothing, and that's when I let _my_ knife come into contact with his chest.

Only if he had the same idea I did about advice. I watched the Games intently, catching on to how tributes threw knives. It wasn't like training, no, but more-so watching. I watched what the tributes – mostly the Careers – and when I got into the Capitol, I practiced. It's funny to think that the Careers even wanted me in their alliance.

The Careers, one of them whom I killed. The final two in the Games were the District Two male and I, the one with the broad shoulders and bulging muscles. It was only at that point that I doubted what I had learned, all of the things I had watched, and everything I taught myself. At that moment, I felt hopeless.

What were the chances I could kill him, anyway?

Very slim. Very, very slim.

But, I did it. I set the trap, I activated it, and I watch. I watched like I always have watched before this, staring at his features and whatever made him stand out compared to the rest. One thing I will never get out of my mind is the look on his face when that last spike punctured him. It was a morphed expression, a mixture of fear and shock. The way his eyes stared into mine, the words he attempted to word at me.

Things like that are what make me feel regret.

"That dress looks lovely on you, Brites. The red really brings out your eyes."

I smile, fixing my own dress, tightening the ribbons. Brites is still gazing at herself in the mirror, not even glancing at me through the reflection. Her face is solemn, bespeaking nothing. There's just a certain emptiness to her right now. She pushes her hair to the side, the brown curls rolling down her shoulder. I come up behind her, zipping the back of her dress, concealing the zipper with her hair.

"What will we do if we lose again?"

I place my head on her shoulder, looking at both of us in the mirror. "What do you mean?"

"It seems like every year we lose, we just disappoint District Five. The Capitol too," she says, her voice calm.

"Why would you say that?" I ask, taken back by her words. "Our victories weren't in vain, if that's what you're getting at."

"No, no," she interjects, sounding a little panicky. "It's just that… if we keep losing, won't that reflect Five as a whole?"

"Perhaps," I respond, not too sure with what I should say.

One thing Brites is known for is her random comments. Her random, reflective, and deep comments. I've gotten used to them, sort of, and know how to respond most of them. She doesn't really expect an answer, but she prefers someone to just listen. If you ever catch her alone, she'll be either talking to herself or some animal. She's rather distant in that way, not always relying on others, and I've learned that she prefers her own company.

I walk away from Brites, staring in awe at her dress. For such a petite girl, one who looks much younger than she is, she really is beautiful. Beautiful not in the way of being alluring or seductive, but with a certain era of innocence and tranquility to her. Maybe that's why she got all those sponsors back in her Games.

"What if the Capitol does something to us? For not getting any more victors?" She asks, her voice showing me that she's serious and this time expects an answer.

"Like what? What could they do that wouldn't disrupt their power?"

"I don't know…"

"Exactly. With us alive, the District has something to cling onto. Without us, they'd be discontent and then the Capitol would have to deal with it. As long as we're alive, we take some responsibilities off of the Capitol's hands."

Brites nods, spinning around in her dress, looking at herself in the mirror. She fixes one last thing, the wrinkled bow on her hip, and then turns around to me.

"Guess we have to go now."

"Guess so."

Walking side-by-side, we exit the room, closing the door behind us. Our heels click against the floor, the only sound we can hear besides our breathing. At the bottom of the flight of the stairs, there are two Peacekeepers, each with their weapons to the side. As we pass them, I nod courteously, Brites not even smiling at them. I nudge her in the arm, giggling at how uptight she looks.

"Calm down, Brites," I say, trying to calm her down. "This isn't your first time."

And, really, it isn't her first time. The Reapings, I mean. She won only a few years ago – seven, to be exact, so the Twenty-Third Games – and she was so young. Maybe that's why she is acting like this now; she's finally old enough to realize everything and understand it. She was thirteen when she won, one of the youngest victors, and when she was a part of the first Reapings he was only fourteen. Even at that age, you're still too young to perceive it all. Now, that's she twenty, she can see it with a wider perspective.

The doors open in front of us, the sight of a tall, green-haired woman making Brites finally make a noise. We both began to laugh, trying to conceal it, the sight of her green dress and green accessories making it worse. Every year it gets more ridiculous, I swear.

"Welcome, District Five! Let's give a round of applause for your mentors – Cynthia Dalles and Brites Abbott!"

For the most part it's still silent, except for the clapping of some District and Capitol officials and whoever is left from our families. Brites and I take our seats, my eyes going right to the Reaping bowls. The escort, whose name I'm not sure of, catches us looking at the bowls, taking it as a gesture for her to start the Reapings.

"Look at that – the mentors are even excited to start the Reapings!"

She saunters over towards the female bowl, shimmying her shoulders with every step. She turns around, probably looking to see if we're still so 'interested'. In a weird, quick gesture, she shoots her hand in the bowl and picks up the first one, nearly knocking over the whole bowl. She pats her hair, acting completely out of breath.

"This is quite the name," she mumbles, not realizing she's on the microphone. "Alecto Marcial!"

A girl stumbles out of the aisle, her face looking a little faint. She pushes her hair out of the way, wiping some of the sweat off her forehead. This girl, Alecto, looks like she's in shock, if anything. She makes her way up to the stage, looking directly at the ground, keeping her arms tight to the side. As she walks up the stairs, she looks up for a quick moment, her face striking me; her ears a little teary and her face looks paler than before.

By the time Alecto is up at the stage, the escort is at the male's bowl, a card already in her hand. She flaunts the card off, holding it up to the sunlight, only stalling time. She opens it slowly, struggling with her nails to open it all the way.

"Devan Halloway!" She says, still struggling to open the card all the way. "Devan Halloway!"

Without much of a pause, a lanky boy steps out from the eighteen-year-old section, walking down the aisle quickly. He shrugs a few times after a few steps, looking like he's talking to himself. As he walks up the stairs, the escort puts her hand on his shoulder, and swiftly, Devan shakes away his shoulder, a peculiar expression on his face.

I look at Brites, trying to get something from her face. Her face is just solemn, not bespeaking anything. She doesn't look back at me, her attention placed on the two tributes. Looking back at them, I see that they aren't standing close to one another. Apparently, the escort gets the hint, since she isn't asking for them to shake hands or anything.

"There we have it; the tributes that will represent District Five in the Thirtieth Annual Hunger Games – Alecto Marcial and Devan Halloway!"

And there we have it.

The two tributes that will represent District Five this year.

But, if what Brites said is true, that District Five is really failing; will that show in our tributes?

Will these two fail, just like the rest of the perished tributes?

_What if District Five loses again? What will happen then?_

* * *

**Melina Till  
33 Years Old – Victor of the 13****th**** Hunger Games  
District Six Mentor**

* * *

They _have _to know, don't they?

Don't they know everything?

That I've been staying here, in this bunker, isolated from everyone else. I'm sure they know, seeing as they are the ones who located this place at first. They left the bunker open for a while, saying that if anyone actually went in it they would be punished. The District never did anything, though, until I won. As a child, I use to come here every day, hiding away from the District and from the Peacekeepers.

I was that one kid who the Peacekeepers wanted to be dead. That was me.

Apparently, they knew I hid there all the time, watching everyone pass on by. Then, I was reaped at the age of sixteen into the Thirteenth Hunger Games. I find a conspiracy theory in it; I think they did it on purpose. Got me reaped because of all of the illegal things I've done.

The crimes that I can't even keep track of.

After I won, I came back here. I ignored the Victor's Village, always hiding out here, and at first, they had no idea. But, one week after I won, they closed this bunker off. The bunker from the Dark Days, where rebels used to hide out from attacks. Now, it's my place, hiding from the District. It might have been closed off, but they didn't do too well of a job. They only added another layer of cement on the main entrance, not the side ones or underground ones.

So, that is why they have to know I'm here. They are the Capitol, are they not?

But, they won't do anything. They enjoy the mysterious atmosphere in District Six. The whole District is always wondering where I am, wanting to when I'll return. I don't plan on it. They'll figure that out eventually, I hope. After I began hiding out in here, the District went on some search-and-raid for me, but obviously, they never found me. The only time I was almost 'caught' – using the word loosely, since I know that they know I'm here – is when a Peacekeeper fired a shot in front of the bunker. I'm not sure who or what it was at, but that's the only time anyone ever got close enough to me.

Since I didn't mentor, they had to get a Capitol replacement. I have no idea who it was, and clearly, it didn't work. That was until that boy, the fourteen year old, Flux Boone, was reaped. This was last year, the Twenty-Ninth Games.

When it got down to the Final Five – the girls from Two, Four, and Seven, the boy from Nine, and Flux – my perspective on him changed. He had it in him, he just had to be given that extra boost. Of course, I couldn't directly sponsor him, so I found someone who could.

Just after the Final Five was put in place during that Games, I left the bunker for a moment. It was nighttime in the District, and usually at that time is when the District criminals are out. I waited for a while, for someone to come, and then someone did. It was an older man, probably looking for anyone to pick-pocket or steal from. When he saw me, he couldn't believe his eyes, and I took it to my advantage.

I wanted to sponsor Flux, to let him know that I'm still alive and that I will help him win. District Six needed another mentor, to make things more interesting and intense here, so it had to be him. He was the first tribute in a while to make it that far. The man was intoxicated and easily manipulated, and when I asked him to sponsor the boy, he said he had no money and nothing to give to him.

Silly, silly man. I gave him more than enough money, gave him whatever I wanted to sponsor Flux with, and sent him off to the Capitol building in the District that deals with it. Usually, citizens aren't allowed to sponsor often or with too much, but I knew that they would let him because I gave the man more than enough money. Since I wasn't there, I don't know how it went down, but it did. I watched the Games on the television I have in this bunker, anticipating the moment that the gifts would be received.

When they did, I was more than ecstatic. I gave the man some of the things I wanted Flux to definitely have and told him to buy anything else he wanted to give Flux. Plus, I added a little note; a note just to tell him that I'm still here, and if he is to win, he can't say anything. I told the man that too, and just to make sure he wouldn't reveal my location, I gave him some money for himself. Money is an easy thing for me to give away, since the District still drops my money for being a victor to my house in the Victor's Village.

Which just adds to my hunch that they know I'm here.

My plan had one flaw, however. Not that I care, since Flux did get the sponsor gifts and did end up winning, but recently, I found out that man died. The man who had helped me had been publicly hanged from the Head Peacekeeper in the town. I did admire the man, though, because he stuck with the deal we had. The Peacekeepers asked where I was, but the man didn't tell. I only caught a small glimpse of the scene on the television, knowing that he'd die if he didn't tell them. It's interesting, though; I'm sure the Capitol knows, but they won't tell the Peacekeepers. The Capitol doesn't want the District to know where I am, only them. It's exclusive information and from me hiding, they have more power here.

Without me, District Six had nothing. Now, with Flux, they have something.

They'll soon forget about me, with Flux and all. And, if Flux brings back more victors, I'll become even more of a distant thought. I'll still get my money either way, so it all works out in my favor. Besides, living here isn't too bad. It might be a little dirty and smelly, but it's comfortable to me and lets me escape from the outside world.

In the bunker, it's like an arena.

An arena of my own creation, all designed for me.

Pressing the button on the remote, the television turns on, the black and white screen shaking a little bit before the image is clear. On the screen, the film is about to end, the escort mouthing every word with it. The escort is in all black and white to me, so I can't see much about him, but I can only imagine him being in a bright yellow suit, the color making everyone in the audiences' eyes hurt.

My eyes drift to the spot on the stage where Flux is sitting, all alone, no one else near him. His legs are crossed over one another, his hands placed in his lap. He stills look so young, and even if he's fifteen, he hasn't changed much from the arena. To me, he is still that boy who fought the boy from Nine at the Final Two. The boy that killed to come home and to take place as District Six's mentor.

District Six's first real mentor.

The escort is at the girl's bowl, and I turn up the volume, getting ready to hear what teenage girl will go into the Games this year. He doesn't waste any time, taking the first card his fingers feel, opening it immediately.

"Rionach Hartley!" He says, the sound of his voice not too audible from the television. "Come on up here Rionach Hartley!"

Out of the sixteen-year-old section, a girl steps into the aisle, pushing her hair out of her face. She walks to the stage, right foot after the left foot, taking her time. She stares forward and climbs the stairs. The angle of the camera changes, showing the side view of her now, letting me see her face more properly now.

She reminds me of myself a little bit.

After Rionach positions herself next to the escort, the escort walks over to the male bowl, picking up the first card in the same amount of time as he picked Rionach's.

"Fausten Fraser!"

An awkward looking boy steps out from the eighteen-year-old section, standing in the aisle for a moment. He pushes back his hair, beginning to stroll down to the stage. He holds his head up high, acting completely unaffected by being reaped. It confuses me a little; the way he acts is just so peculiar. Once he is next to the escort, he gives him a little bow and holds out his hand for the escort to shake. The escort hesitantly shakes it, my facial expression matching his.

What is this boy – Fausten – doing?

Fausten stands next to Rionach, holding out his hand to her as well. Rionach smirks a little bit, placing her hand on his, shaking it casually. They continue to look at each other for a few more seconds, until the escort cuts them short. He stands in between them and grabs both of their hands, holding them up in the air.

"There you have it, District Six – Rionach Hartley and Fausten Fraser!"

Pressing the button again, I shut off the television, not wanting to look anymore. Now, it's all up to Flux, not me. Not that I ever had to any of this, but something feels different about this year. The tributes are clearly much older than Flux, and I feel that he won't be able to mentor them properly. He barely knows what's going on, seeing as he just won last year, so this is all new to him.

I could imagine it now, the look Flux will have on his face when the two of them die.

That is, if they die. Ever since Flux won, my hopes for District Six have risen.

If I can win and Flux can win, who knows who else can win.

I'll just have to sit back, relax, and wait for the Games to start.

* * *

**Duke Barton  
34 Years Old – Victor of the 14****th**** Hunger Games  
District Seven Mentor**

* * *

"Someway, somehow, we can do it."

"Don't start with this again, Cassia," I reply, knowing that whatever I say won't affect her.

"We can give the Capitol a taste of their own medicine, Duke. Trust me on this one," she says, her strained facial expression showing me that she's given this much thought.

"Stop with this talk," I cut her off. "It'll only make things worse for us all."

"But, we're victors. I don't think you understand how much power we have," Cassia tries again, standing up from her chair and putting her fists on the table. "We can actually do something."

"Let's put all of this to the side for now, please. We'll bring this up again sometime after the Reapings," I plead, once again knowing that it's all in vain. When Cassia has something in her mind, she sticks with it and won't let it go. She's stubborn like that.

"Just listen to me, Duke. I might have something going here," she speaks up, but I cut her off.

"Cut it out. We can't do anything risky; just like you said, we're victors. I'm sure the same punishments are still applicable to us, even with the useless title of victor."

Cassia brings down her fist on the table, her hair falling in front of her face. "I'll let you win this time, Duke. You'll come to the realization eventually. And, once you do, I won't be there to help you."

That's one thing Cassia is known for – her cold and brazen way of speaking about things. Even when she was my mentor, which was about sixteen years ago, she did the same exact thing. Whenever I had a question, she would tell me the truth, whether I liked it or not. She told me what life is really like, the cold, hard truth about it. I would never admit to her, but she did make me the person I am today. She gave me that spirit to win, the edge that led me to my victory.

Regardless, she's always had the same mantra – that the Capitol is too oppressive, that District Seven should have more power, and that she should be able to do something. I don't really think she gets it; we're now victors, and we're held to a new standard. When we're citizens, they can punish us for a public display of rebellion or for going against the Capitol's policies, but when we're victors, there's more at stake.

Our families, our winnings, our titles.

All of that is now in their control, and in a way, we're just the Capitol's pawns. We can't do much anymore, since we're always under heavy surveillance and most of the time we have a Peacekeeper escort with us. I'm not sure if it's the same in every District, but if it is, I can see why Cassia feels the way she does.

When you're a victor, your whole life changes. For the better or worse, that's up to your own interpretation.

"I'll just wait until next year," Cassia pouts, pushing her chair in a little too forcefully.

"Until what? Another pair of tributes is dead, Cassia?" I ask, getting a little upset at her constant nagging.

Cassia glares at me, pointing a finger. "Next year, maybe District Seven will realize the same thing I do, Duke."

I throw my head back, sighing, about to give up with Cassia. One day, she's going to get herself killed. The Peacekeepers in Seven are strict and don't care who you are, and if they catch you doing something wrong, they aren't afraid to fire or punish you. I'm sure they'd do the same thing to us if Cassia and I weren't victors.

They'd kill us, more-so her, if we have the chance. She poses a threat to the Capitol's presence in District Seven, and they don't want that. With Cassia, there will always be a presence of defiance. Then, there's me, who just goes along with Cassia. Of course, I'd stick with her through thick and thin, but at times, she's hard to handle.

Cassia really gets under your skin, no matter who you are.

"Whatever, whatever," Cassia mumbles, picking at one of her nails.

"You know I agree with you," I say, nearly a whisper. "We're victors now, not citizens. Things are different now, for the both of us."

"And that's what I hate most about winning. That things have 'changed'."

I shrug, thinking of something that won't upset her more than she already is or something that will agitate her. She's very reactive, and if you say something she doesn't like or something that triggers her, she'll let her emotions go. It all goes back to her Games too, where her impulsiveness and recklessness really gave her a hard time. She's not an easy girl to tame or understand, but I'm working on it.

"You just have to deal with it."

Cassia opens her mouth to speak again, but she closes it, only nodding her head. She walks towards the door, stopping when her hand is on the doorknob. I follow her, placing my hand over hers on the door knob.

"You're not in this alone, Cassia," I whisper into her ear. "We're a team now."

"I'm just used to it yet, even if I won a long time go," she whispers back, turning the door knob.

Outside, there are two Peacekeepers, holding out their hands to the side. The door to the stage of the Justice Building is already open, my eyes quickly scanning all of the teenagers in the rows in front of the stage. I begin to walk first, with Cassia slowly following behind me, staring at one of the Peacekeepers. She mumbles something, but luckily they can't hear her.

Walking out onto the stage, Cassia and I find our seats, right next to each other. Cassia sits on the one to the left, since she won the earliest Games, and I sit next to her. At times, I wish that there were more chairs.

That there were more chairs to fill, all with people Cassia and I can relate to.

"Who's ready to get started?" The escort, Junia, asks, the peppiness in her voice making me chuckle. She gets no response from the audience, except the shuffling of feet and the coughs of a few people. "Well, it's time, everyone! So hold onto your socks!"

Junia walks over to the female bowl, her steps large, making me chuckle even more. I can just imagine who angry Cassia is getting from how Junia is acting. Junia gets to the female bowl, closes her eyes, and dives her hand in. She moves it around, my mind thinking of all the girls who could have been reaped. She finally picks one, holds it up to the sun, and takes her time opening it. Cassia's leg twitches a little, and I place my hand on it, calming her down a little.

"The girl tribute for this year is," she holds her mouth open, gasping once she reads the name. "Alise Cambrie!"

A girl at the corner of the twelve-year-old section, looks around, whispering something to the girl next to her. Assuming that is her, she looks as if she's younger than twelve. She steps to the side, looking confused and oblivious, cowering as two Peacekeepers approach her. Once they grab ahold of her arms, she begins to flail and cry out, screaming for help. I hear the crying of someone in the audience, probably a family member, and it makes me feel bad a little. Cassia is staring at the girl, her face almost a frown.

"Aw, don't cry, Alise! It's only the Hunger Games!"

"Yeah, don't cry," Cassia mumbles. "You only have one life."

Junia steps to the side, letting Alise stand next to her, who only clings onto her dress. She pushes Alise off, leaving her standing there alone, her hands wrapped in front of her. She looks around, her eyesight catching mine, and she smiles. I smile back, the thought of her dying making my head hurt.

Junia gets to the male bowl, doing the same thing with all the cards in there as she did with the females'. As she opens it, I get a little fidgety, not being able to take my attention off Alise. Cassia will mentor her, and I can only imagine how that will turn out. Cassia can barely mentor any sixteen to eighteen year olds, and this girl has to be twelve.

"Hollis," she chimes in, taking a large breath before saying the last name. "Oleander! Hollis Oleander!"

A rather tall, muscular boy steps out from the sixteen-year-old section, his face hard and dignified. His fists are clenched, him showing the same anger in his face with him biting his lip a little. His clothes are rather clean and nice, so he must not come from a family of a lower background, and from his body, I can tell he works in the lumber business. I have never heard of the name Oleander before, so I can't really put my finger on it. I look at Cassia one more time, who seems much more satisfied with this boy.

"Welcome, Hollis," Junia holds out her hand as he walks up the stairs, who completely ignores her. "Okay, okay, that's fine too."

Hollis stands a few inches away from Alise, not even looking at her once. Alise gazes at him, reaches out her finger, and pokes him. Hollis looks down at her from the corner of his eye, scrunching his eyebrow. She says something to him, but once again, he ignores it, looking straight ahead.

"Good luck, tributes; and the may the odds be ever in your favor!"

Looking down at the ground, I think of all the things that could go wrong this year. Hollis dying and Alise dying, that's about it. At this point, I don't get too emotional at the sight of my tributes dying, but if I had to pick a feeling, it'd be uncomfortable. I'm not sad or disappointed; I'm just uncomfortable with it all. Cassia still continues to get angry when a tribute dies, especially if it's one she has hopes for.

But, I can already tell that she won't care for Alise. She'll care for Hollis, though.

And me? I don't know who I'll care for.

I'll care for anyone who shows potential.

Even if the die, they still impressed me with their potential to win.

I've learned that expectations lead to disappointment.

And I've already been disappointed enough.

* * *

**Urban Burrel  
27 Years Old – Victor of the 21****st**** Hunger Games  
District Eight Mentor**

* * *

It's unfair.

The Games, that is. It's unfair, biased, and ironic. The Games favor the Districts with physical, taxing occupations, it favors the older, more suitable tributes, and it favors the Districts who are more loyal to the Capitol. From One, they train, from Two they train and work with heavy materials, from Four they are near they train and are near the water, and even from Seven they work with tools that could potentially be used as weapons.

To a lesser degree, even Nine, Ten, and Eleven are more prepared. Three and Twelve, too. Perhaps Five and Six, but then that leaves District Eight.

The textile District. What are we known for? Our weavers? Factories? Tenements?

What do we have that makes us special? To give us a chance?

Absolutely nothing.

And that's why it's unfair; because we are ill-prepared. We aren't ready for the Games as a whole, lacking any vital skills. Survival skills, weaponry skills, mental skills. What could having an attention to detail to? What will knowing how to sew up a patch enable us to do? Nothing.

Every single tribute – except for Woof and myself – all die early on. Usually the Bloodbath, but on that rare occasion where we find hope in a tribute, they die. They die just like the rest. We can't even do anything about it. We are just so ill-prepared and unaware of anything that all we can do is die.

It's morbid, but it's the truth. District Eight is destined to die in the Games over and over again.

And over, and over, and over again.

It's a never-ending cycle.

One that we just have to live with.

Peering out the window, I spot a few kids that would probably do well in the arena. No, I'm not hoping one of them is picked, I just… I just think it would benefit District Eight. Our reputation has gone downhill, and if we were to just get one more victor, or even one more tribute to do well in the Games, we might mean something then.

We might actually be known for something other than our clothing.

For once, we'd be able to handle ourselves. Only if people like me were reaped every year, then things would be different. Things would have turned out in our favor, not the other Districts'. No, I'm not being cocky about myself.

I just knew what I was doing. I _still_ know what I'm doing.

If I had the chance, I would go back into the Games. I really would. It gave me something to do, something to look forward to do, something to get me away from District. There, I could use all my built up passion and anger without the consequences. In the arena, I could do whatever I want.

Here, I can't. Even if I'm a victor.

I can't publicly criticize the Capitol or the District, tell anyone anything that would go against doctrine, or spread my experiences about the Games. Those are only for me to know, apparently. The only good thing about being a victor is that you now have a nice home to live in, rather than the cramped tenements you were assigned beforehand.

At least it's something.

"Get me Woof," I snap at the Avox, gesturing for her to comply. "Immediately."

The Avox swiftly exits the room, the sound of the door closing behind her making the room go silent. I roll my eyes, hoping that she knows that she better get back as soon as possible. It's not that I want to order her around every second, but it's what I deserve. I need to get something else out of this victory, and if I can have my own personal servant, then be it. I'll deal with what I get.

Besides, they did something wrong, so I'm just helping the Capitol out. This isn't necessarily punishment, but it's not paradise. Personally, I would never become an Avox. I'd rather be hanged or poisoned over becoming an Avox as a form of punishment.

The door opens slowly, Woof's face appearing in the doorway, followed by the Avox. I wave her away, her mouth remaining shut and her eyes as glassy as ever. Woof comes through, whispering something to the Avox, and shuts the door. He stands next to me, both of us looking at the all of the teenagers in front of the Justice Building.

"Lovely day, isn't it?"

Woof says, nodding, his facial expression making me agitated. Every year, he always has some new problem. Some new internal problem, making him miserable and all quiet during the day of the Reapings. It's just because he's weak. He can't face any of these teenagers by himself or even mentor them. Call me ungrateful, but I wish someone else won than him. He's useless, weak, and unprepared.

"The Thirtieth Games," Woof utters, dragging his finger across the window pane.

"Yes, that's correct," I sneer. "Comes right after the Twenty-Ninth."

Woof goes silent, still dragging his finger up and down the window pane. Just the sight of him makes me angry lately. Even when we aren't mentoring or watching our tributes in the Games, he's just as bad. He walks around the District for most of the day, talking to anyone he wants, and at times, it's a Peacekeeper, a Capitol official, or the Mayor. He'll talk to anyone who gives him the time of day.

Except me. He never comes to talk to me.

That's his problem, though. Not mine.

I wouldn't mind talking to him, even if I get fed up with him at times. I like listening to his stories from his time in the Capitol and the Games, or even about his childhood. I wouldn't mind him if he talked like that all the time, but once he starts with mentoring, that's where I distance myself. He has his ups-and-downs, and at a time like this, the day of the Reapings, I don't need to talk to him or be friendly.

Outside, they are just finishing the film about the Dark Days and the Games, which means it's about time to go. We have the option of sitting outside and listening to it, but most mentors choose not to. It's a waste and it becomes repetitive. The door is already open, and I walk towards it, seeing if Woof is following. Of course, he's not, so I just leave him.

As I'm half-way down the stairs, I hear the door shut, the sound of footsteps behind me. I don't look back, continuing to walk forward. The only time I stop is when I wait for the doors to open for me, letting Woof catch up to me. He says something, but I ignore him, quickly going through the doors once the Peacekeepers open them. I take my seat next to Woof on the right, not engaging in any small conversation with him as we sit down.

"Ladies first!" The escort, whose name I just don't care for, goes over to the female's bowl. With every step he takes, I wince, just wanting this to be over with.

I roll my eyes as he takes his time getting a card, resisting the urge to scream at him to hurry it up. When he finally gets a card I exhale, waiting for the name to be called out.

"Poplin Silvers!" He calls out, the silence afterwards not making me happy. I always love a little reaction from a reaped tribute.

A girl walks out, a smile on her face that I can see right through. Her lips are shaking, as is her arms and legs, and as she tried to walk forward, you can tell she's scared. After one last step, she falls to her knees, that smile she had on her disappearing. She begins to cry, the shrieks making me want to cover her eyes. A girl from the section behind hers comes out, sprinting right towards Poplin. They say something to one another, but are cut short from the Peacekeepers prying them off each other.

"Come on up here, Poplin!"

The Peacekeepers are now carrying her, the sobs just getting annoying now. The escort is already at the males bowl as Poplin takes her spot on the stage, card in hand. She opens the card, mumbling something to herself before saying it louder.

"Do we have a Blake Valenzuela?"

My attention shoots to the male section, hoping that the boy is someone I might care for this year. A loud grunt emits from the male section, specifically where the sixteen year olds are. A boy comes out in to the aisle, lowering his head, and as he gets closer, he lifts it up. He looks relatively stable, not showing too much emotion, and goes past everyone without any sobbing.

Blake stands next to Poplin, who holds out her hand for him to shake. She is still crying a little, and once Blake sees her hand, he lets out a loud guffaw.

"Cut the shit, Poplin. You're making us look bad."

And that's when I let out my own guffaw. Woof is looking at Poplin and I'm looking at Blake. Clearly, we know who will take who this year. Woof always goes to the younger tributes, the ones who are weak and useless, and I always go to the ones who show potential. Just like Blake.

Compared to Poplin, he is something.

With him, District Eight might finally have something.

We can finally win it.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Nothing to say, really… How is everyone :D?  
I'll try to get the last one out before the end of Thanksgiving Break (4 u 'Muricans out der, that's from Nov. 28-Dec. 1), so, expect it sometime then. From there, it's the Capitol time!

*Questions*

_What tributes stood out to you? Mentors? _

_What was your favorite District in this chapter?_

Can I ask more questions? I like hearing what people have to say… Just go with it.

_What's your favorite District?_

_And if you were in Panem, what District would you be in?_


	4. Reapings: Part Three

w w w. riotof colorhg. blogspot . c o m

w w w. hallof famethg. blogspot. c o m

* * *

**Lichen Barley  
44 Years Old – Victor of the 3****rd**** Hunger Games  
District Nine Mentor**

* * *

Just one more time.

That's all I need.

One more glimpse of his toothy smile, one more childish laugh from him, one more warm embrace. That's all I need. Just one more time, all of it. Then maybe I can cope. Just maybe.

Maybe then, I can finally liberate myself. I can finally accept what has happened, and begin to learn how to get over it. To remember, to pay homage, to forget.

It's just not as easy as it seems. One thing after another, coming together at once to get dumped on me all at the same time. And I wasn't prepared for any of it. It all came as a shock, the feeling of perplexity still simmering in my stomach, the memories and feelings never leaving.

But, it'll never happen, and I know it. It's just the fact that I won't accept the truth.

I didn't deserve, my son didn't deserve, and neither did my husband. My _ex_-husband and my _dead _son.

It was just a series of unfortunate events. My son died, and then the next day I received a phone call from my husband. He blamed me for him dying, clearly under the influence, and told me that I wasn't good enough anymore. That I had failed him, let him down, and indirectly got our son killed.

What if he was right?

What if everything that happened is my entire fault?

I cried nonstop, managing to get no words, only noises, out into the phone, begging him to stop. He kept going and going, continuing to make me hate myself even more, and then it happened. He told he wanted a divorce, hung up, and that was the last time I ever spoke to him since.

I haven't been in District One since about the same time, too. The place where my son is buried.

Even if it was about ten years, it still hurts. Just knowing that my son is dead and won't return, that my husband left me and won't return, and that I as a person won't ever return to the way I was. The fact that nothing will ever be the same again, and from here on out, my life will be different.

It's been different, and even though I thought it would get better as the years went on, I was wrong. It's getting worse.

I can't sleep at night, I can barely eat without feeling guilty, and whenever I take a breath, I feel like I'm taking it for granted. I feel like my son could have used that breath, or used that piece of food, or that one hour of sleep. Whenever I do something, it all goes back to my son.

The son I lost to these Games.

And the worst part is, is that all I have left are memories. The memories of his birth, him growing up in One, the years he began training. That's all I have left, nothing physical. The last physical interaction I've had with him was at his grave back in District One.

It's a nice grave, or at least what I remember of it. That was ten years ago.

The work was beautiful, really; the arched-shape of the marble, with his name and details on it. 'Cove Barley' was carved into it in fine print, decorated with flowers and other designs here and there. It says how long he lived and how he died; the most depressing thing is the way it says he died. Not that he was stabbed or murdered, but that he was collateral damage of the Hunger Games.

That's all he is to the Capitol now, but to me, he is still my son and he will always be.

"What'd you say?" Riley looks up from her book, tipping her head forward.

"What?" I ask, snapping out my gaze out the window.

"You were just talking," she says, lowering her head again, going back to her book.

"Was I?"

Riley nods, her eyes shifting from left to right as she reads the lines. "Don't worry about it."

Watching Riley's eyes shift from left to right some more, I begin to doze off, letting my feelings take over my thoughts. The images of Cove flashes before me, with my husband in the distance, our family being reunited once again. The compassion and affection we felt for one another rekindling, and then all at once, it comes crashing down. Cove fades away, Glass fades away, and eventually, I fade away.

And there's not one thing I can do about it.

"You're talking to yourself again, Lichen. Are you okay today?" Riley peers up, closing the book in her hands.

Trying to hold back all of my emotions, I turn the other way, hiding my face from her. I can hear her standing up from her chair, beginning to walk over towards me, and once I can feel her right behind me, I swing around. Wrapping my arms around me, her body tenses up and she's hesitant to wrap her arms around me back, but eventually she does. I rest my head on her shoulder, the height difference making it a little awkward.

"Thank you," I coo into her ear, nuzzling my head into the crevice between her shoulder and neck

"For… for what?"

"For being there, Riley."

"But I haven't done anything…"

Taking my arms off of her, I begin to laugh, wiping away the tears that are forming in my ears. That's one thing that never fails to make me laugh about Riley; the way she can't accept compliments and doesn't understand them. She leaves her hands on my shoulders, using her finger to move some of the hair away from my face. The sense of her touch makes me feel the same feelings I felt whenever Cove touched me; warmth, compassion, and affection.

At times, despite our age difference, she's like a mother to me.

Riley was at a young age when she won the Twenty-Sixth Hunger Games, only at the age of fifteen. It's not a surprise when fifteen year olds die in the Bloodbath or early on in the Games. But, she didn't die; she made a kill in the Bloodbath. It wasn't really her kill, but everyone counted it that it was.

The boy from Six, whose name I can't remember, got stabbed in the thigh during the Bloodbath. He managed to crawl away, but once he got to a certain point, he gave up. Riley had been watching him, wanting the supplies that he got away with, and that was the perfect time to do anything. It was a quick and easy kill, and it seemed to not affect her much.

That was until her second kill. It was the finale, where there were only two tributes left. This time, it was a larger tribute from Eleven, and she really didn't want to kill him. She made the boy chase her through trees and open fields for at least two hours, and once she ran out of the energy, she turned around. She's bold, something that can come in use during the Games. The boy was out of breath too, which only made it easier for Riley. He came forward, his steps all over the place and his body swaying back and forth.

And what Riley did next surprised me; she sprinted forward, lunged at him, and stabbed him in the neck. After the announcement came that she won, she tried to stab herself in the neck. She was close too, until something shocked her. Her body slumped to the side, her body paralyzed, and that's when the video went black.

Riley made two kills; one more than I did.

But, she's never witnessed a death of a family member; only I have.

A knock on the door shatters the silence, the sight of a Peacekeeper opening it snapping me out of my daze. Riley grabs my hand, pulls me towards the door, and I follow. As much as I'd love to pull my hand away and lock myself back in the room, I can't.

"Good morning," Riley says as she passes the Peacekeepers, her grip on my hand getting tighter.

As we step out onto the stage platform, where the escort and the Mayor already are, she lets go of my hand. I resist the urge to go grab it, shaking the thoughts from before out of my mind. I sit down to the left of Riley, the comfortable chair underneath me making me feel a little better about the situation.

"Hello, District Nine! I am Agatha, and I will be your escort this year!" The lady says, a little too loudly in the microphone, the sound of it making my ears hurt.

Walking over towards the reaping bowls, I get a flashback of the site of Cove running to the stage, volunteering. When I feel Riley touch my hand, I get another flashback, the sight of her being Reaped in my mind. I lean back into the chair, trying to rid my head of these thoughts. Distractions are the last thing I could use right now.

"Who should we start with – males or females?" She waits for a response, and once she gets not even a cough, she answers her own questions. "Males it is!"

Dipping her hand into the bowl, she pulls the first card her fingers touch, and as she brings it up, she drops it. She puts her hand back in the bowl, not grabbing the one she just dropped, but another one. I could only imagine the name on that kid, the boy that won't have to go into the Games now. Agatha opens the next card quickly to make up the time for dropping the other one, reading the name out loud.

"Joseph Echemik!"

My eyes scan the boy's area, looking for whoever this Joseph boy could be. A somewhat tall boy steps forward, beginning to walk up towards the stage slowly. He rubs his eye only once, definitely trying to keep himself together. Joseph fixes his hair, putting it behind his ears, and walks up to the stage silently. Agatha is already at the female's bowl, and after she looks Joseph up-and-down, she picks a card.

"Augusta Daveigh!"

The seventeen-year-old section shuffles, all of the girls spacing themselves out, leaving one girl in the center of them. She looks familiar for some reason, the sight of her blonde hair and blue eyes reminding me of something. She pulls up her shirt, still standing in place, and crosses her hands over her heart.

"Come on up, Augusta!"

At the sound of her name being repeated, Augusta slowly walks to the stage, the smile on her face morphing into something else. She grits her teeth at one point, and then bites her lip, and then it goes back to a smile. I can relate to the mixture of emotions she is feeling right now.

Augusta gets to the stage, and as Agatha reaches out her hand, she pushes it out of the way. She walks right past the escort, her shoulder bumping into Agatha's shoulder, and stands right next to Joseph.

In my mind, I want to go with Augusta, for the reason that she seems similar and that I can relate to her.

But, in my heart, I want to go with Joseph.

_Or maybe I just don't want to mentor at all._

* * *

**Asher Hadamik  
28 Years Old – Victor of the 20****th**** Hunger Games  
District Ten Mentor**

* * *

_Ten years._

Ten years later and I still remember everything. Every single detail.

Every breath I took, every step I took, every kill I made.

Every year when it's time for the Reapings, my life changes for the day. I fall back into the mindset I had ten years ago, the vulnerable, defiant, and cold teenager I was. Looking back at it, I shouldn't have won, I really shouldn't. I was too deep into some grand scheme to defy the Capitol, to show them what I think.

But, I was wrong.

Being defiant and rebellious is one thing, but being opinionated and staying true to yourself is another. I learned that quickly in the arena, with Amelie and all. Once I met her, I knew that I had to change, and I came to some big realization. No matter how many years are put between me and the Games, I will always remember it all.

Especially Amelie, my ally, my friend, and my first love from Nine.

It's saddening, though, that the last time I saw her parents was during the Victory Parade. When you go to each District, thanking them, telling them how well their tributes did, and a bunch of other bullshit. I couldn't keep myself together during hers, knowing that I could have saved her.

It doesn't affect me as much. Her death, that is. It had to happen, and it did.

Then there was Seer, from District Seven. My one and only kill.

From time to time, I watch back at the way I fought in the arena. The things I did, where I went, and how I did things. It makes me laugh now, but at the time, it saved my life. I did what I had to do, which in one case, was killing. I rewind and replay that scene every time I watch it, letting it sink in.

Murdering isn't as easy as you think, especially when you had to go back to their District and talk about the victim.

I had trouble of thinking something to say, knowing that whatever I say is being broadcasted all over the country. My escort gave me some card to read off of, but I didn't think that was right. It didn't respect the tribute, the District, and the Capitol as a whole enough.

Not that I want to necessarily respect the Capitol, but now that I am a victor, I can't act the same way I used to.

Everything I own and care for is now in their hands.

And I've gotten used to it.

I am more careful now, with what I say and do. Every once in a while, I have to make a public appearance, which means walking around the District and interacting with everyone and such. It's not too bad, since I love talking to people and listening to them, but whenever I go back home, I have a weird feeling in my stomach.

I feel that the people really don't like me, since I went along with the Capitol's game.

That by me winning, I am just giving satisfaction to the Capitol.

Wolfram tells me to not worry, since he's been doing this longer than I have, but it still doesn't help. He's helped me with a lot, like how to manage my money and what to do with it, or other simple things like that. The bigger things, such as how to deal with what people say about me, how to cope with the memories of the Games, and other things, he really can't do much about. That's all up to me, now.

If Wolfram weren't here, and I had to go at this alone, I don't know what I'd do. I respect Wolfram just because he had to go through all of this alone, without anyone else here. He was District Ten's first victor and then came me; and it's been that way ever since.

At first, mentoring was hard for me. I wasn't sure what to tell the tributes, whether I should form a bond or relationship with them, or how big of a part I should played in their time in the Capitol. It got better as the years went on, but just not for the first two or three. Whenever I asked Wolfram about it, he didn't give me a definite answer, saying that I should figure it out on my own since we're all different people.

It makes sense. Confusing, but it makes sense.

"Could you could pass me that?" I ask Wolfram, pointing to a plate full of colorful desserts.

Wolfram slides the plate to me, a cake already in his mouth, some crumbs falling onto the table. He brushes them onto the ground, chucking a little bit, and reaches for another one. I take the pink one, first licking off the icing and then eating the cake.

"Only if life was as sweet as these, eh?" I joke, laughing at myself.

_Only if._

"True that, Asher!" He says, taking another swig of the colorful liquid in his glass. "Care for some?"

I shake my head, letting him have the bottle all to himself. As much as I don't want another cake, I take one, letting myself indulge in something that I actually enjoy. Wolfram passes me the glass, and I let myself indulge some more, taking a sip of the liquid.

I pucker my lips at the tanginess of it. "What is that?"

Wolfram throws his head back, a guffaw escaping his mouth. "Who knows?!"

"I think that's enough now," I say, taking the bottle away from him. "Go get ready, anyway. It's almost time."

"Get ready for what?" Wolfram asks, his voice shaking from holding back laughter.

I shake my head, trying not to laugh at him. "The Reapings."

"Oh, those are today!" He stands up, the crumbs on his pants dropping to the ground.

Whether or not he is joking, I just don't know. He isn't an active alcoholic or anything, but at times, he likes to have a drink – or ten. It doesn't matter to me, I'll let him do whatever he wants, but I just don't need anything to happen to him. Whenever he drinks, he says some… risqué things, and if the Capitol heard it, they wouldn't be happy.

That's why I always have to be near him, especially when he's drinking.

He's got my back, and I got his.

Wolfram comes out from the bathroom, in a new outfit completely, looking much more refined than his other one. I look down at mine, just shrugging it off; we'll only be outside for a little bit. He stumbles a little bit, knocking something over on the end table, and doesn't care to pick it up.

"Let's go," he says, adding extra emphasis on the 'o'. "I heard the trains are nicer this year."

Stepping out into the hallway, I notice a few Peacekeepers, knowing that they won't be too happy either if Wolfram's drunk. I wrap my arm around his waist, keeping him up-right and making sure he is walking properly. We pass the Peacekeepers, and I nod at them, not expecting a response back.

"Hey-" Wolfram starts, but I tighten my grip around his waist, shutting him up.

"Not now," I whisper, imagining what he would have said.

The doors to the stage are already open, and I lead us both through them, the bright sun making Wolfram groan. I place him down on his chair, and I sit to his right, still keeping my on him, keeping him upwards. I don't need him looking intoxicated, especially on television.

"Wolfram Swath and Asher Hadamik, everyone!"

The escort, a male this year, holds his hand out towards us, the silence following it making me smirk. He blinks a few times, taking in that no one is clapping or whistling for us, and goes to the female's bowl. He dips his hand in, picking up the first card his finger touches, reading the name out loud.

"Do we have an Astrid Pallon?" He says into the microphone, repeating himself a few more times. "Astrid, Astrid, Astrid!"

A young girl comes out from the girl's section, probably around fifteen, and stops in the aisle for a quick moment. She fixes her ponytail and pats down her outfit. Her eyebrows are furrowed, and I could only imagine what she is thinking about. She's probably thinking the same things that every tribute thinks at a time like this.

When Astrid makes it up to the stage, the escort hugs her, causing her to squirm a little. He lets go of her, guiding her right behind him. The escort walks over towards the male bowl now, grabbing a card out of it.

"Jaggary Fowl!" He says, repeating the name once again. "Jaggary, Jaggary, Jaggary!"

A boy steps out from the fourteen year old section, his face full of emotion. He looks angry, with a mix of shock and discontent. He walks forward, his hands in a fist, keeping them tight to his hand. He walks up, stands right in front of the escort, and says something to him.

"Pity you couldn't predict that!" He says, his voice a little shaky.

The escort steps backwards, letting Jaggary take his own place next to Astrid. They look at each other, not exchanging any words or gestures, and then look back at the escort. He stands in front of them, holds their hand up in the air, and struggles to speak into the microphone clipped onto his collar.

"There you go, District Ten! Astrid Pallon and Jaggary Fowl – the tributes who will represent District Ten in this years' Hunger Games!"

Wolfram mumbles something, but I pinch him softly, keeping him quiet again. He probably has no idea what's going on right now, but I do. It doesn't matter much to me who I individually mentor, since I think it matters more when the mentors come together, as well as the tributes.

To me, it's a team effort.

One that you cannot go at alone.

* * *

**Seeder  
22 Years Old – Victor of the 24****th**** Hunger Games  
District Eleven Mentor**

* * *

_I'm sorry._

It's the only thing that comes to mind anymore.

I'm sorry for the things I've made people watch, for the things I've done to others, and for the person I've become. I'm sorry for everything.

People say it doesn't matter, that it's fine, and that it had to happen. But, I don't agree with it. It does matter, it is not fine, and it did not have to happen. None of it did and I should not feel obligated to say sorry to everything.

What will a sorry do, anyways?

A word can't fix a wound, can it? It can't fill the void of the loss of something, can it? It doesn't mean anything in the long-run. Nothing can fix it anymore.

Especially not some apology.

Running my hand through her dark brown hair, I begin to braid it, trying to make it look the best I can. I pull it too hard at times, causing her to yelp and pull her head forward, giggling a little afterwards. I continue braiding, not letting myself think about what today is.

What today could possibly mean to me.

"Does it look good so far?" I ask, holding up a mirror to her.

"It looks perfect," Amaryllis replies, a wide smile on her face.

The sight of it just makes me even sadder, and I try to push those thoughts aside. "Anything else you want me to do?"

"Could you put the ribbon on me, please?" She asks, rummaging through her box of ribbons. "The yellow one!"

"Of course," I say, taking the ribbon from her.

I pat her dress down, fixing the strand of fabric on her waist. I open the pin on the back of the ribbon, place it on her, and close it up. Fixing it so it's straight on her waist, I try to avoid pricking her with the needle, not wanting to feel any pain. She spins around in a circle, giggling uncontrollably. She begins to hum a soft tune, the tune sticking in my mind and just making me feel worse.

As much as I want to push it aside, I can't.

No matter how much I try to ignore it, to push it to the side, and to hope it's not true or reality, it is. All of it is.

Amaryllis is finally twelve. The year she begins where she can be Reaped.

The thing I've not wanted to happen since she's born is finally here, and I can't do anything about it. Even if I'm a victor, it doesn't matter, since they are still eligible. The worst part is that if she gets Reaped, I won't even be able to volunteer. I'd be her mentor, and once she steps in that arena, that'd be it.

As much as I don't want to admit it, she wouldn't make it. She wouldn't even make it five minutes in there.

Amaryllis is too innocent, sweet, and young. She isn't ready for it, and I want to protect her from that. My mother and father tell me it all the time, that she won't be get Reaped, but they don't know. The Capitol would do something like that; they really would. As much as I love my sister, I just wish she wasn't twelve yet or maybe that she was older.

At times, I wish I wasn't as a victor, so I could volunteer for her just in case.

There's a knock at the door, and Amaryllis runs to it, but I catch her quickly. I don't need her approach by any Peacekeepers now; she's still quite frightened and intimidated by them. One even said something to her once, that they hope she gets Reaped because she's my sister, but luckily, she didn't understand what it meant. She came home, told me, and I was immediately infuriated.

There wasn't much I could do, so all I say was: 'I'm sorry.'

See? The word just keeps coming back to me.

Opening the door slowly, the sight of the dark hand on the doorknob making me smile. I open the door all the way, giving Grove a quick hug, and then let Amaryllis see him. She runs towards him, and Grove kneels down, picking her up in his arms. He lets her down, revealing a box in his back pocket.

"This is for you," he says, a smile on both of their faces.

Amaryllis grabs the box, rips the ribbon off of it, and tosses the lid to the side. She squeals at the sight of it, and I move to the side, trying to take a peak of what Grove got her. Inside, there's a dark orange ribbon, one with words inscribed on it. It seems to be her name sewed in with red string. She shakes with it in her hands, looking up at me. Grove always gets her gifts or something, and that's one reason why I appreciate him so much.

He really is like an uncle to her and a brother to me.

"Can you please put this one on me?" She squeals, holding the ribbon up to Grove. "Thank you so much!"

Kneeling down, I bring her towards me, taking off the ribbon already on her. I look up at Grove, a certain look in his eye, knowing he's thinking what I am. I finish up with her quickly, replacing the yellow ribbon with the new one, and stand back up. Amaryllis goes back to looking at herself in the mirror, pretending to be some princess.

"Are you doing alright?" Grove asks, soft enough for Amaryllis not to hear.

Shrugging, I try to hold back the tears. "No, I'm really not. What if she's Reaped? What if…"

Grove places his hand on top of mine, his smile making me feel better. "I don't know what the future holds, but she won't, I promise. The Capitol wouldn't do that, or at least I don't think."

_He doesn't think._

"It would get publish backlash if she were to be Reaped. Everyone knows that she's your sister, and the Capitol can't risk it like that."

Grove's words make me feel somewhat better and more hopeful, but it doesn't do much. Anything can happen, even her being Reaped. There isn't much I can do about it.

A Peacekeeper stands in the doorway, waiting to escort Amaryllis to the twelve-year-old female section. She prances towards him, kissing Grove and I on the cheek, and then leaves the room. I stand up, figuring that we should get ready to go as well, and Grove grabs my hand.

"Don't worry, Seeder. Everything will be fine."

Grove and I walk side-by-side through the hallway, leading right to the stage. We step outside, the bright colored escort making me smile. Grove rolls his eyes, mumbling something to himself, and takes a seat. I sit down, grabbing his hand, and we sit there, awaiting the Reapings.

"Females first!" She exclaims, taking her time as she walks over towards the female's bowl.

My heart begins to race a little, knowing that this is where Amaryllis is in danger. This is where it all could change.

She picks a card out and opens it, the anticipation making me feel light-headed. "Averil Disoto!"

I sigh, letting my shoulder relax. Leaning back on the chair, I feel Grove grip my hand tighter and I can see him looking at me. As much as I want to smile, I can't, since I know that this girl is nearly the same age as Amaryllis is.

There's a loud gasp in the audience, followed by a soft crying sound. I find the girl in the fifteen-year-old section, her body frozen with shock. She begins to cry louder now, the girls near her stepping to the side, letting the Peacekeepers come in between them. The Peacekeepers pick Averil up, carrying her right to the stage. They let her down at the stairs of the stage, and Averil wipes her eyes, slowly walking up the stairs. She stands behind the escort, her crossed behind her back.

"Now, we shall pick the male for this year!"

The escort walks over towards the male bowl, picking up a card quickly, feeling it with her fingertips. "Mauer Allister!"

The sight of a white boy coming into the aisle surprises me, knowing that there aren't too many of them. All eyes are on him, and he looks a little confused, taking a slow first step towards the step. He blinks a few more times, and then walks towards the stage at a quicker pace, a little too quickly if you think about it. He probably just wants to get it over with.

Just like I do; another few weeks of mentoring is ahead me. At least I can find solace knowing that Amaryllis didn't get Reaped.

But, aren't these children's families worrying as well?

What makes me different than them?

I… I don't know.

The only words I can think of that I would say to their families are the words I hate the most.

_I'm sorry._

* * *

**Niobe Atilla**_  
_**21 Years Old  
Capitol-Assigned Mentor**

* * *

"Here I am!" I exclaim, waving my hands in the air. "I have arrived!"

Stepping down from the train platform, I stumble a little bit, my heels falling into the cracks of the cobble road. I rebalance myself, now watching wherever I step, taking my time each time I go forward. Extending both of my hands, my two servants grab them, basically lifting me up. I walk with them, nearly floating, to the sidewalk that isn't cobble.

"Ah, that's much better!"

The excitement of being in a new District – one that I've never, ever been in before – overwhelms me, my feet walking even more without much thought. I walk through random alleyways, cross random roads, and go up random stairs. All of the buildings here are black with some gray, and everything else is just so… _rustic._

That's the word – rustic. And antique.

Why has no one told me about this place yet? It's just so lovely!

"Where's the closest bakery? A jeweler? Or, or, a weaver!" I squeal, my head spinning around, trying to take everything in while I have the chance. "I'd just love some authentic goods from this District."

No one answers me, which upsets me. The reason I came here was to shop, see the sights, and to explore. The Capitol mentioned something about being a mentor, but they said once I get back I can have a shopping spree. Honestly, I'm not too sure with what 'mentoring' means, or who I'll even be mentoring, but I know one thing – I could use that shopping spree. All of the clothes I bought last season are so drab now, and I cannot become the girl known with the ugly clothes back there.

I have a reputation to uphold, and this 'mentoring' program will be one way to help myself.

As we – a few Peacekeepers, my two servants, and me – continue walking, I drift towards the bulkier Peacekeeper, his tanned skin behind his mask, his bulging muscles, and his toned body intriguing me. Well, if anyone told me District Twelve has some of the hunkiest men, then I would have mentored earlier.

Much, much earlier.

As I get closer to him, I throw my arm around his shoulders, bringing my hip next to his. I lean my head on his shoulder-pad, the cold metal giving me the chills. I try to look up the mask to see what's underneath it, but I can't see anything except for his tanned skin. A man of mystery, I like that.

"What's your name, cutie?" I flirt, speaking in my most seductive voice.

He ignores my question, which only interests me more. He's mysterious and cold, even better. I might just have to take this one home with me after all this mentoring. I lean in closer, trying to make my voice sound even more seductive.

"I might need someone to protect me back in the Capitol from all those criminals. Would you be willing?" I ask, winking at him. "I'd pay you _very_ well."

"No can do, ma'am," he finally replies, his voice just as cold as he is.

Whatever his name is, he has me head-over-heels already. Now that I think of it, some heels would be lovely, but I just still have to find that store. We've been walking for a while now and all I've seen is some shacks, small alleyways, and garbage. Not one single shoe, necklace, or donut.

Where's the good stuff? Besides the Peacekeeper, that is.

Letting go of the Peacekeeper, simply because he's not playing along with my flirting or giving me what I want, I go to another one. This one is female I assume, from the chest and hair and all, but whatever. I'll take anything I get at this point.

"Hi, my name is Niobe! What's your name?"

This one actually gives me something, looking at me from the corner of her eye. I stand next to her, my arm touching her arm braces, and I interlock them. I begin to babble to her, not really wanting a verbal response, since the looks she gives me is satisfaction enough.

"District Twelve is lovely. Do you like it? I do!"

The Peacekeeper's head stays forward, except for the little glances she gives me occasionally. We turn down a corner, the road we go on a little nicer than the others one; this one is paved, has street lights, and a sidewalk.

"I'm still not sure what this mentoring thing is, but I'm excited for it. Have you ever mentored for it?"

I'm actually curious about this one, but all I get is another look. I shrug, thinking of what this mentoring thing really is. My father is a head Peacekeeper back in the Capitol, and when I was there, I overheard him talking about it to my mother. District Twelve had no victors to mentor, or something like that, and needed a Capitol replacement. Then, they said something about the Hunger Games, and I know _everything_ about the Games.

I am the perfect choice for the mentor replacement.

When I went to my father, I asked him to let me be the replacement, and he didn't take me seriously. I kept asking him, and once he got the hint, he went to his boss or whatever and got me the job. I had a small interview about it, and they asked me questions about the Games and what I know about them. I told them I knew a lot about them.

I know the Capitol runs them, children are in it, and that it's some Game. That's basically all of it, I think.

Either way, I'm excited. Ecstatic, even.

I'll be on television, on the radio, and on video. People all over Panem will know who I am, so I must look my best. From the looks of it, District Twelve people aren't in the best shape; their clothes, hairstyles, accessories, and whatever else. They're lacking, but I bet it's because they want to reflect the District.

Rustic, antique, and traditional.

"Where are we going?" I ask, the excitement churning inside me.

I pick up the pace, walking down the street faster, leaving my people behind me. As I walk down a small hill, I see a large building in front of me, the color of it making my head hurt. It's all black, made from some dark stone, and the windows are all covered by red curtains. There are some silver accents to the building, but they're hard to notice. The District Twelve emblem is on the top part of the building made from a shiny gold, and that's the only thing I like about it.

It seems that District Twelve isn't as pretty as I was hoping it would be.

"Hurry up, everyone! Let's get this show on the road!"

There is a large group of people in front of the building already, with the kids it looks like in front of the stage, while the adults are behind them. There are several Peacekeepers in all white too, and when I look towards the doors, I notice something else. There is a female on the stage, dressed in all pink, with a pink wig to match it. Her skin is even a shade of pink, the sight of her making me feel mad.

I want to look like that. I dressed up in all simple colors – browns, oranges, yellows – to match the District. Or, at least, what I thought would have matched the District.

I pout, crossing my arms over my chest, not wanting to walk any further. The female Peacekeeper comes up behind me, pushing me forward a little bit, and I whine to her. She looks so much better than I do, and she isn't even the mentor. I don't even know what she is supposed to be.

"I don't like her," I utter, stomping my foot on the ground. "She is stealing the show."

Reluctantly walking through the gates, the Peacekeepers lead me towards the outside of the sections. I push their hands off of me, strutting towards the aisle. If she wants to steal the spotlight, I'll take it back. I put my hands on my hips, letting my hair flow in the breeze. I strut down the aisle, hoping that everyone is looking at me.

"And here she is – Niobe Atilla!"

I clap for myself, expecting others to clap with me, but I get nothing. It offends me a little, but I get over it, taking my spot on the stage. I'm supposed so sit on some chair, but it doesn't look clean, so I choose not to. I prefer standing, anyway; it gives me a chance to show off my body more.

"Ladies first!" She says, her words confusing me.

Do you think she's picking the winner for a prize?

The lady puts her hand in a bowl, taking out a card from it, and reads the name. "Fawn Brett!"

A girl begins to walk forward, her hands shaking and her eyes a little wet, and I wonder why she's so upset. She just won something, and she's acting like a child. As Fawn approaches the stage, a girl runs for her, but is caught by a Peacekeeper. The girl screams louder and louder, and Fawn wraps her arms around the girl's head as she's in the Peacekeepers arm.

"No, no, I'll be fine," Fawn screams, reaching for the girl as she gets pulled away.

Fawn turns around, walking towards the stage, only looking back once to see if the girl's still there. I bet the girl is trying to steal her spot as the winner of the prize. I'd be upset too if someone won and I didn't.

The lady is at the other bowl, a card in her hand. "Avis Lowery!"

A hunky boy steps into the aisle, his muscles and defined jawline making me gush. He freezes a little bit, and I just want to throw a rope at him, dragging him closer to me. Avis is such a nice name, too.

Screw the Peacekeeper, I want him. I don't like the girl, anyway.

But, I wonder what they won? Do you think it's a life-time subscription to a magazine? Or maybe a shopping spree?

Or… wait, wait! I got it!

They won a once-in-a-life-time chance: A meet-and-greet with me, Niobe Atilla, herself.

_If that's the case, why do they look so ungrateful?_

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Yeah, that's it! All of the 'Reapings'. There will be a poll up that you can vote for the tributes that stood out most to you from the Blog/Reapings [4 tributes].

Voting will be great since it'll show me how everyone feels.

Regarding the Capitol, I'll tell you how I do my POVs and whatnot. There are nine Capitol chapters, each with three POVs per chapter. Some tributes get double POV, but that doesn't really mean anything; it just depends on how people like them, react to them, what they do for the story, etc.

*Questions*

_What tributes stood out to you? Mentors?_

_What was your favorite District in this chapter?_

I'm going to ask another question, whether you like it or not.

_If you were in the Hunger Games, what weapon would you use?_


	5. Train Rides

w w w. riotofcolorhg. blogspot. c o m

w w w. halloffamethg. blogspot. c o m

* * *

**Helios Villard  
District Two Male, 18 Years Old**

* * *

"Thank you."

The Avox steps away, bowing a little, with little expression on her face. I pat the napkin on my lap, push in my chair, and slowly go for my fork and knife. As I reach for the utensils, I hear chewing noises coming from my right, and as I turn my head, I roll my eyes at who it is. Of course, it's Cassiopeia.

Figures she wouldn't have any manners.

I ignore the noises, picking up the fork and knife, and cut at the food on my plate. It's all small, delicate dishes; some vegetables, some desserts, some meat bathed in some sauce. I go for the vegetables, cutting the larger pieces in half, stabbing them with my fork, and bring it to my mouth. I chew slowly and quietly, the noise of Cassiopeia chewing making me disgusted.

Cassiopeia catches me looking at her, and she turns her whole body towards me, her mouth full of food. "Would you like something?"

_For you to chew quietly, preferably, _I think. Instead, I just shake my head, going back to eating the vegetables. She reaches over to grab my plate of the meat, and I pretend not to see her, figuring it's pointless to say something. There's always more where that comes from, and by the looks of it, she's starving.

I ate a nice breakfast before the Reapings, so I'm still not too hungry. It seems like this one hasn't eaten in a few days.

"This is just delicious," she utters, the chewing noises getting louder and louder. She turns to me, a piece of food getting spewed at me, and I wince, the sight of her saliva and chewed up food on me repulsive.

I'm just not used to this… to such savageness. She's barbaric.

"What's your problem?" She blurts out, another piece of food spewing onto her plate.

"Nothing in particular," I reply, setting down my fork and knife. "Cassiopeia-"

She slams her fist down on the table, the food on her plate jumping a little bit, her face immediately going into a grimace. She stares down at me, her eyes wide and angry, and the sight of the food on the corner of her mouth still making me queasy.

"Do not call me that," she whispers, her voice sharp and deep. "It's Cassia, to you."

I'm a little taken back by her brashness and her lack of manners, but I smile anyway, nodding my head. "Okay. Cassia it is."

"What is it you want, Dimples?"

The question slips my mind, the name she just called me now making me confused. "Dimples?"

Laughing, she turns back to her food, picking up a piece of broad. "You have nice dimples, Mr. Villard."

Mr. Villard is even worse than 'Dimples'. It just reminds me of all the family parties I went to, all the business meetings I had to attend; it being the name that everyone would call me when we had to be official. When I had to put on a smile and wear a nice tuxedo, just to impress someone or to close a deal.

_Mr. Villard,_ I repeat in my mind, the name making me even more perplexed. _Mr. Villard._

The feeling of being obligated to always thank someone for complimenting me snaps me out of my thoughts, the words slipping out of my mouth. "Thank you."

Cassia scrunches her nose, a closed-lip smile on her face. "Thank you," she repeats, the laughter following her words making me feel even worse. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

She's just making fun of me. Taking advantage of me, using my own words against myself. Taking my etiquette and politeness and turning it against me. Nothing I'm not used to.

"Thank you," she whispers, one last time.

I mentally push her away, not letting myself feel consumed by her or her words. I go back to eating, the sight of the shaking chandelier on the train distracting me. By the time I hear the doors on the train slide open, I have already finished my plate, knowing that Cassia took the desserts that I would have liked now.

I'm just being taken advantage of again.

"Seems like you two have already met each other," the male, Marcel, booms, a bottle of alcohol in his hands. "I, as you all know, am Marcel Petrone. I shall be your victor, boy," he says, pointing at me.

"The pleasure's all mine," I stand up, holding out my hand for him to shake. "I'm Helios Villard."

Marcel goes to grab mine, but once our hands are close, he pulls it away. He laughs loudly, taking a sip from his bottle, and then turning towards Cassia. The sight of Nashira coming through the doors takes me away from worrying about Marcel, and I walk towards her quickly, kissing her on both cheeks. She shakes my hand, and then places a hand on my shoulder.

"It's always nice to see you, Nashira," I says, a smile on my face.

"We'll be spending a lot of time together, so I hope you don't get sick of me," she jokes, a sound in her voice that I haven't heard too often. She's always serious, rarely ever making a joke or laughing at something.

She's just like my sister, Selene in a way, so maybe that's why they get along so well.

Nashira lets go of my shoulder, and meets Marcel near Cassia. Marcel is talking to Cassia about something, but I'm not sure they're the best combination. A loud-mouth drunk with a freak-show; sounds a lot better in my mind.

Knowing that Nashira will be here – until the Games begin, obviously – makes the process a lot easier. Well, as of now, it does. She's back from home, from my family life, and I even consider her a friend. Not a friend like most people would consider, but she means something to me. She's basically a mentor, but in life, not these Games.

Nashira's not only an example of what a victor should be, but she's a genuine mentor. She knows what she's talking about, what she's doing, and what we should look out for.

Before her, I knew nothing about the Hunger Games. I was never allowed to watch any previous year, and I still haven't, but she's taught me something about them. From her, I learned that they are a vice for the Districts to show authority over one another. I'm supposed to take pride in District Two knowing that we have the most victors at this time, and I do. She's also told me that Districts One and Four, the 'Careers' – or the trained Districts – are our main competition. We've beating them as of now, but she says that one day, that could change.

So I'm not supposed to let that happen.

But, I didn't volunteer for her. I didn't volunteer for her selfish, although practical and understanding, ways. I volunteered for my own reasons, for my own purpose, and for my own sake.

I volunteered to be independent, having full control over my life and my decisions. Nothing that was said back in District Two applies to me here, and I' m now my own person.

I just hope that it'll work out not for me, but also for Selene and my brother, Eos. That's all I could ask for.

"Anything questions you guys have?" Marcel slurs his words, the bottle nearly slipping out of his hand. "I'm basically a genius when it comes to these things. I should be from District Three, I swear!"

Nashira speaks over Marcel's obnoxious laughter, not even a slight smile on her face. "If you have any questions, do not be afraid to ask. Come to me and I will do the best that I can to answer them."

"I have one," Cassia pipes up, not speaking in a while. "When do we get to see the Training Center?"

"A few days," Nashira says, clearly unaware of what Cassia really means. "Anything else?"

"Yes! When can I get another piece of this meat?" Cassia asks, this time giggling at her own questions. "Oh, I could use some of whatever Marcel is drinking too."

"You can just have mine!" Marcel exclaims, holding out the bottle to Cassia. "There's enough for everybody!"

Nashira glances at me, and I look back at her, our eyes on each other for a few minutes. She smiles, a genuine one, and turns back around, her hair trailing behind her. She walks forward, grabs a bowl of colorful soup, and sits down at the counter.

With her guidance, I can win.

She's taught me as much as I know, and over the next week or so, she'll teach me more. She'll able to tell me what it takes to win. With her, I won't just be another son to just have the family named passed down through. I'll have purpose and I'll mean something to someone.

I'll mean something to Selene, Eos, and even for my father.

I'll finally be able to do something on my own terms for once.

* * *

**Hollis Oleander  
District Seven Male, 16 Years Old**

* * *

Leaning back in the chair, I close my eyes, the voices around me soothing me to the point where I seem to doze off. With each new voice, I perk up, letting myself soak it in and remember it. At some things they say, I smile or laugh, and at others, I frown or grimace. The things people talk about this stage are just so… intriguing.

"Who are you?" The high-pitched, childish voice asks, a soft squeak following her words.

"I am Duke and that is Cassia; we're your mentors. That lady over there is Junia, your escort. And who are you?" They playfully ask, stooping down to the girl's level of childishness.

"I am Alise!" She pipes up, clapping her hands together. "Alise Cambrie!"

"That's a beautiful name!" Another voice chirps in, this one just as high-pitched as Alise's, but more monotonous. That must be Junia.

"And what's your name?"

A sense of curiosity overwhelms me, waiting for another voice to chime in. It stays silent, though, except for the shuffling of footsteps and the sound of silverware tapping the plates. I can feel the breath of someone on me, and I hesitate to open my eyes, knowing that it's probably Alise.

"What is your name?"

Opening my eyes, the sight of the small, blonde-haired girl makes me smile. Her beady eyes are staring directly at me, and as she pushes her hair behind her hair, the strands fall back down. This time, she takes her whole palm, brings back her hair, and then keeps it there with her hand.

"I'm Hollis," I answer, my voice all shaky from just dozing off.

"Hollis," she repeats, holding out the sound of the 'l' in my name. "Hollis!"

I push myself up from the couch, sitting upwards, and pat the spot next to me on the couch. She sits down, spinning her head around to look at everyone else. She waves her hand, gesturing for them to come over, and they all sit down. Cassia and Duke are across from us, while Junia is just standing, eating a plateful of pastries. She sees me looking at the plate, and she offers me one, and I take it.

Breaking the pastry in two, I give a half to Alise and the other for myself.

Might as well be nice to her for as long I can. I'm sure she won't try to kill me in the arena.

"Let's talk strategy," Cassia inserts, her voice sharp and solemn.

Duke reaches out his arm, pushing Cassia back from edging closer to us. "Give them a break, Cassia. They've only just gotten on the train."

Cassia slumps back, putting her feet up on the table, keeping her attention on me. It makes me feel a little awkward, knowing that she's watching my every move, and when I go for another cake, she takes it for herself. Looking up at her, I bring back my hand, watching her put the cake in her mouth.

"That's unfortunate," I jeer. "Lemon is my favorite flavor."

"Why is that?" Cassia asks, licking the tips of her fingers.

"The sourness of it just reminds me of the Capitol. What's your favorite flavor?"

"Red," she says, licking the crumbs off of her lips. "Like blood."

"That's enough, you two," Duke interjects again, changing the topic of conversation. "Alise, yes?"

"Yes!" She turns around from looking out the window, her nose red from being pressed up against the glass.

Duke begins to have small talk with Alise, and I attempt to listen, but the feeling of Cassia still watching me is making me even more uncomfortable than before. Really, I should just keep my mouth shut and not put myself out there, but at times like this, I can't help myself. It's good to play along with the mentors; they can sponsor you, if need be.

And a sponsor would be great for the Games.

Cassia stands up, trailing her finger along the top of the couch. She skims her hand over Duke's shoulder, who doesn't even flinch or look back at her, and she stops at the doorway. The door slides open, and she turns around, giving me another look. She smiles, her hand waving towards her. She's gesturing for me to follow her, and at first I'm skeptical, not knowing what she wants.

There's nothing else to do, so I might as well go.

Standing up, Duke glances at me, not knowing that Cassia wants me to follow her. Alise calls my name, a few words following it, but I don't turn around. As I approach Cassia, she walks through the doors, the doors shutting behind her. I stop for a moment, just making sure that she really wants me to follow her for whatever reason, and then I step through the doors myself.

At the end of the hallway, Cassia is standing in another doorway, this one leading to another part of the train. The doors shut behind her, and I tread slowly, taking in my surroundings. The dim-lighted hallway, the metal walls and plush carpet on the ground making it seem like I'm already go into the arena.

The doors open in front of me, and I see Cassia at the back of the train, looking out the glass. The walls are all glass, exposing the outside, and then the train enters into a tunnel, making everything go black. It's rather dark in here now, so I can barely see Cassia's whole figure.

"District Seven needs tributes like you," she says, her words cold and her body stiff.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask, the flashing of lights in the tunnel making me blink.

"Do you see Alise? You and I both know that she'll die immediately," Cassia deadpans, her head tilting to the side slightly. She chuckles a little, silencing herself quickly. "We all know it."

"What does that mean for me?"

"Nothing, and that's the point. You're different, Hollis. District Seven hasn't had a tribute like you in a while."

A tribute like me.

That's one way to put it.

Yes, I understand that District Seven hasn't put forth any exceptional tributes lately, but what does she know? We've only met only a few hours ago, and she thinks she knows me already?

She's just deluded. Thinking that she can read everyone and that she knows when someone will do well in the Games. Just because she's a mentor, she thinks that she can make a victor out of everyone.

For what purpose? To redeem District Seven's title?

She's just being selfish. Selfish and deluded.

I know nothing about her, and she knows nothing about me. Not that I plan on telling her anything, but she still has a lot of time to learn. There's a bunch of things she doesn't know about me, but I don't see a problem with that. Of course, I'd like to know more about her, but I won't tell her anything in return.

It's just one of my perks – wanting to know more than I'll give in return.

Stare, pry, listen, eavesdrop. I do it all.

I just want to die knowing something.

We're not here for long, so why waste my time?

* * *

**Pika Charging  
District Three Male, 13 Years Old**

* * *

"Hi, my name is Pika."

The girl looks down at me, her nose scrunching up. She wipes her mouth with her napkin, puts her fork down, and places her hands on the table. Bishop her name is, if I can recall correctly. I haven't met her at all yet, or even seen her around the District, but there's so much I want to know. Bishop might seem like one of the girls that I would avoid at school, but she seems nicer to me. Plus, she has such a nice name.

"Bishop," she replies, reaching for her glass. "How old are you, Pika?"

"I'm thirteen," I reply, pushing up my glasses, feeling my hands clamming up. "Can I guess your age?"

Bishop nods, a smile forming on her face. I look at her, up and down, taking all of her features in. She has long hair, broad-shoulders, and is taller than most girls my age. She must be older than me, she must be. She's wearing nicer clothes than I'm used to seeing – a blouse, a nice pair of stretchy pants, and boots. Bishop's smile is getting wider, and I finally come to my conclusion. She must be eighteen. There's no way I'm wrong this time.

"Eighteen," I say, already knowing that I have to be right. "You're eighteen."

"Very good," Bishop claps lightly, the motions of her hand all prissy. "What else do you know?"

I try to think of something else I can tell her about herself, but before I can even begin to think of anything else, Nora comes around. She places her hands on my shoulders, the grip making them ache a little bit, and Bishop turns her head. I lift my head upwards, looking at her from the corner of my eye, and all I can see is a wide smile on her face.

"Good morning, _tributes_," she says, letting go of my shoulders. "Let's get to work."

"With?" Bishop asks, cutting into the piece of bread on her plate.

"Well, Ms. Grande," she replies, now placing her hands on Bishop's shoulders. "Alliances, how to act when we get there… things like that."

I perk up at the words alliance, knowing that I need one in order to survive. I've heard that you will always need an alliance in the Games, and that it can help you. Help you how I'm not too sure, but I know it can. Back in District Three, I managed to watch only one past Hunger Games, and in that one, there were a ton of alliances. It was the Twenty-Fifth Hunger Games, the one where double the amount of tributes went in. I wasn't really supposed to be watching it; my mom always told me to change the channel if it came on. But, I wanted to see what it was like.

It was… weird.

There were things I have never seen before, heard of before, or would have ever thought could happen. There was blood, dead people, and these weird creatures that attacked the people. I turned it off quickly because I couldn't watch anymore. Knowing that, if by the rare chance, that could be me.

And here I am.

I still don't understand. What were the odds of me being reaped?

My name was only in there three times. Three pieces of paper, that's it. Of all the boys in District Three, why was it me?

It's just a question I will never understand. One that I will never get an answer; something I don't like. There has to be an answer to _everything_.

Looking back at Nora and Bishop, they are sitting across from each other on the table, with Nora talking and Bishop still eating. I'm not sure where Jericho, the other mentor, is. He's only talked to me once so far, which was when we first got on the train. Now it's just Nora.

In a way, I respect Jericho and Nora, but it's because that's what I'm taught. They are two of the three victors that District Three, and for some reason, that's important. They apparently make District Three better and make it more important.

I can't really see it, though.

District Three is a nice District, not poor, really. We have a good food supply, and I haven't heard too many sirens in a while. The people are kind and are nice to one another. I just… I just think things could be different. Maybe, at a point in time, people will actually care about District Three. Even though we have victors, it still doesn't seem like anyone cares about the District.

Not even the Capitol. Isn't that supposed to be their job? To care for the Districts?

The Capitol thinks very poorly of us, or at least to me. They might be rich and have great power, but they don't use it wisely. I don't think that means we have to think poorly of them, so I really don't know how to feel. Most people think poorly of the Capitol just because it's an opinion that is drilled into our brains from birth, and in a way, it can relate to the Capitol as well. They are convinced that they are superior to the Districts, that they have full authority over us, and that they are simply better than the Districts.

Personally, I don't think what they do is right; with the Hunger Games and all.

The Games aren't fun, that's true. It's a horrible idea to put children in an arena to fight to the death; it's just another thing I don't understand. What are they getting out of watching us children die?

Isn't there some other way to prove what they want? Whatever it is that they want to prove.

If I had to decide who went, I would say people who were older, with grown-up children. That'd make it fairer for the children and for the Districts, so that the youngest ones won't have to die. Even if it were only older teenagers that were to be picked, it still wouldn't be right.

Nothing the Capitol ever does is right.

"Would you like to watch some Reaping recaps, Pika?" Bishop calls over, already on the couch.

"Would you like to watch some Reaping recaps, Pika?" Nora mocks, holding out the 'a' in my name.

I nod, responding to Bishop, but not Nora. Walking over towards Bishop, who's already on a two-seater couch, the television turns on. On the screen, it's the District One Reapings, and as I sit down, Nora giggles a little. I turn around, but Bishop catches my attention, making me turn the other way.

Why does Nora do things like that?

For some reason, Nora always seems to be mean to everyone, not just Bishop. I've watched some of her interviews and I've even seen her in public, and she's always like that. Always saying something nasty, and then laughing about it to herself.

It's just something else I will never understand.

And I don't like not knowing the answer to something.

It's just not like me to not know something.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Three tributes introduced! What'd you think of them?

The *poll* results are up!

Some POVs will be shorter than others, yes. I can't do much about that, so the POV length will vary depending on the tribute. Some just have more to say, while others don't.

And for this chapter: How much can I do with train rides? Other chapters will be longer, this one is always a filler-type-event for me.

I'll see how it works out and if it's fine for my standards.

No questions, I guess?


	6. Chariot Rides

w w w. riotofcolorhg. blogspot. c o m

w w w. halloffamethg. blogspot. c o m

* * *

**Augusta Daveigh  
District Nine Female, 17 Years Old**

* * *

"That's a lovely name you have there. Is it a family name?"

"Yes, yes it is!" I gush, holding my hands to my chest. "It was my grandmother's, then my mother's, and now mine!"

It's just funny how it isn't. My mother's name Soliel, before the incident and all, and my grandmother's dead. No connection through our names at all. But, why tell her that? Why would she need to know?

Why not give her what she wants? Some washed-up, over-the-top answer with a pretentious backstory to follow?

I like that idea. It adds a little excitement to it all; and in a place like the Capitol, excitement is what they want.

"How gorgeous!" She holds up my hair, playing with it in between her fingers. "What did you use on your hair? It's so natural, so real! It's almost like it's real grain-stalks!"

I let out a fake laugh, completely encompassing her with a sense of artificiality and amusement. Beginning to play with her hair, I hold it to the light, pretending to examine it, just like she's doing with mine. She continues to talk aimlessly about my hair, saying what she likes about it and what she doesn't. From where she is, I get a perfect look of her, of all her features and details.

Too round of a nose, beady eyes, eyebrows that are too trimmed.

"So, what's your name, darling?" I ask, tilting my head, the hair draping my shoulder. "Wait, let me guess! Is it… Beauty? No, no, Desire? Or, or, Allure!"

The stylist throws her arms out in front of her, wrapping them around me tightly, squeezing me tightly. Her warm breath in my ear disgusts me a little, making me push her away gently. She barely gets the hint, beginning to play with my earlobe. Running her finger down my ear to my neck, the slight scratching feeling of her nail only agitates me more.

"Aren't you just a doll!" She squeals, her cheeks blushing. "It's Selene, but I much rather prefer those names. Call me, Daffodil – oh, oh! No! Call me Antonia!"

"Okay, okay, Sele – I mean, Antonia – calm down. Aren't we supposed to be introducing ourselves?"

Barely containing my laughter, I can just imagine what her thought process. Actually enjoying this petty conversation, over such a trivial thing as names. A name, something that doesn't even define who you are; it's just a simple title. A simple that title that could, in this case, make you look even worse than an atrocious get-up. Regardless, I'll play along, giving her the satisfaction she wants. Selene is boring, anyway, and Antonia has a little flare to it.

"Let's start with you! Tell me about yourself, Auggy. Do you mind if I call you Auggy?"

_Let the real fun begin. This is my moment to shine now._

My mouth opens wide, my jaw dropping, pretending to be in shock. "No way! All of my friends back in Nine called me Auggy all the time – how did you know?"

Antonia giggles, sitting down next to me on the table I'm currently sitting on. She leans her elbow on her leg, placing her head on top of it, staring deep into my eyes. The interest in what I have to say is what I love. How some people are just so gullible that they are easy targets to pick on and to fool. Silly Antonia.

Silly, silly Antonia.

"Well, I lived a wonderful life in District Nine, let me tell you. My father is a shopkeeper, he sold all-original furniture that comes right from District Seven, and my mother, well, she's a performer of sorts."

"A performer? Does she sing for the Mayor? Dance?"

"Something like that," I laugh, trying to change the subject. "All of my siblings are prodigies at one thing or another, and everyone in my family makes up the Daveigh name. We are spectacular."

"What about you, hun'? What do you do?"

"Before I was Reaped, I went to school. The best school in the whole District, oh yes. I was receiving the best education, aspiring to become a politician."

"That is just so cool! A politician, really? So… does that mean I'm standing right in front of the President-to-be?"

Laughing, I realize that it's going too far; time to bring it back a little. "No, no, silly. More of a local-politician, working for the Mayor."

Antonia nods, clearly listening a little too attentively to what I'm saying. Only if she knew that none of this true. That my life is not even comparable to the smallest degree to what I'm saying, but what does she know? What does she have to know about me?

Why should she know anything at all?

"What about your grandfather? Is he dealing with the death of your grandmother okay?"

I widen my eyes, preparing myself to let out a really good story this time; one that she will have to just believe. I mean, I could tell her the truth, that he's dead as well, but why? She'll pity me, feel bad for me, and apologize for his death. I don't want that. I don't need her feeble attempts to console me, to make me feel better, to change something that is set-in-stone.

I lean in, bringing my mouth close to her ear. "You can't tell anyone, Antonia. If anyone hears about this, I will be in serious trouble."

"I promise," she whispers back, her beady eyes looking up at me.

"Well, my grandfather actually led District Nine in the rebellion. I know, I know, it's crazy, but it's true. He's been in hiding ever since."

"I… I don't believe it! Nope, not one bit!" She pulls her head away, crossing her arms over her chest. She leans back for one more moment, one of her eyes squinting at me. "Is it really true? Am I speaking to a relative of a," she takes a deep breath in, letting it out dramatically, "a rebel?!"

I place my finger over her mouth, gesturing for her to keep quiet, knowing that she'll probably go and tell all her friends about this. That she's _actually_ talking to a relative of a rebel, that she's _actually_ talking to someone of high status in District Nine, and that she's _actually_ talking to the soon-to-be President.

The irony? That's she not _actually_ talking to anyone.

I'm just some made up, fabricated, and exhibitionist creation.

Well, there are a few things about me that are completely true. Things that I haven't convinced myself otherwise with and that I haven't pushed out of my mind, replacing them with new made up lies. Those things are that my name is really Augusta Daveigh, that I am seventeen years old, and that I was born and raised in District Nine.

But, other than, I just don't know what's real or fake anymore. It's all a blur, some made up story, that I've been sticking to. All some story that I've been spreading and taking advantage of people with.

But, who's to blame me?

Everyone lies. Every single person out there.

The President, a Gamemaker, a Mayor, a Peacekeeper, and anyone else who I have failed to mention. Lying is just natural to every human, whether we like it or not. So, why not use it to my advantage? Lying isn't even hard, to be frank. All you have to know is how to use a few words, how to use your voice, and how to be clever and quick about it.

I take that back, actually: Lying is pretty challenging. Almost as challenging as wielding a sword or throwing a knife.

Besides, if no one knows I'm lying, who is going to get hurt? Whose feeling will I hurt this time by feeling? No ones'. No one's at all. Lying doesn't even affect me anymore, and that's the truth.

So, that's another truth that I'll admit; lying doesn't affect me.

Not even in the slightest bit.

"What else is there to know about you, Auggy? Tell me one more thing, and then we'll get down to business," she says, her voice gradually going softer, seeming upset that we have certain things to take care of.

"One more thing, Antonia, and then we will have to stop for the day."

Putting my hand to my chin, I pretend to think, racking my mind for anything that will really spice things up here. Once it comes to me, I raise my finger, acting as if I just had a light bulb go off in my mind. I unclip the front part of the robe I was given to wear, making Antonia seem a little confused, but once she sees it, her goes wide.

My scar.

That's one thing that will surely send her for a loop.

"What… what is that?!" She exclaims, pointing at it. She acts like she just witnessed manslaughter.

"Do you really want to know?" I ask, her head coming in closer to my face. "Do you?"

"Yes, yes," she whispers, her words all jumbled up.

"I was mugged," I say, rubbing the corner of my eye. "It's a touchy subject, but I'll talk about it just for you."

Antonia leans in even closer, awaiting the rest of my story, but I'm still trying to figure it out. Of course I would never tell the truth about this scar, it's far too drab, and every time someone asks me about it, I think of something new. Something fresh, something creative, and something different.

Just like the rest of my lies.

"I was stabbed," I whimper, gaining so much satisfaction from the look on her face. "They stabbed me, took all my money, and then ran. We still haven't caught them since."

"How dare they?" She shrieks, bringing one of her fists to her mouth, beginning to nibble on the nail. "That is just horrible!"

"Isn't it? Isn't it just so horrible?" I say back loudly, getting my point across.

And, just like that, I'm over it. I have other things to worry about; like all the rest of the oh-so _horrible_ things in the world. And trust me when I say this, whether you have come to the realization yet or not.

There are just so many more horrible things in this world than a few lies.

* * *

**Poplin Silvers  
District Eight Female, 14 Years Old**

* * *

I've never see anything like this back in District Eight.

All of these scented soaps, the colorful liquids, the brushes and the combs. They feel so nice on my skin, and they're something I wish I had back in Eight. There, we only showered a few times a week, never having the same things we do here. We had to use what we had to, but if we had soaps and brushes, I would shower much more.

I mean, I do love my District, but it wasn't perfect; nothing is. It's just familiar to me and I feel safe in it, if that makes sense. Rarely anything happens, but I know that I can just walk around after work when I'm done without getting in trouble. I'm sure it's like that in the other Districts, but I know District Eight is a better District than the rest.

I just know it.

"Sweetie, are you ready?" The lady asks, a tray of soaps and moisturizers in her hands.

"Yes!" I chirp, lying back on the table.

Two other people, one boy and one girl, enter the room also with trays and whatnot. The main lady, whose name I don't remember or just haven't been told, begins to wash my hair. She brushes it, pulls out the knots, soaks it, and then repeats. The other people begin to wash my feet and hands, the aroma of fruit and flowers making me feel happy.

The smell is just wonderful.

"So, tell me sweetie, how are you today?" She asks, pulling on my hair a little too hard this time.

I wince, the pain going away eventually. "I'm great! It's so nice here in the Capitol; none of it seems real."

It really doesn't. The buildings, the cars, the people, and everything else. District Eight never had any of this, at all. The roads are actual roads made from some fancy stone, the sidewalks have no cracks, the buildings are actually clean, and the sky doesn't have any tint of darkness to it. It's all so… complicated.

I like the Capitol, really, but I'd never tell anyone – especially not to my friends, Alizarin and Dante. The fashion, the funny way they speak and look, and the way they go on about themselves. Alizarin and Dante always told me how horrible the Capitol is, so I began to dislike it, but I still don't see why they say those things. So I just keep it to myself.

Besides, if I told them, they'd be upset.

And I could never upset my friends.

Trying to look around, my view is blocked by the people cleaning me, so I just stare forwards. On the ceiling, there are flowers patterns sketched into it, and those make me happy too. Between the smells and now the sights, my mind drifts, the distractions making me think of District Eight.

I just miss everything about it.

My family, my friends, my life.

But, especially my friends – Alizarin and Dante.

During the Reapings, Alizarin came after me. I didn't want her to, I really didn't, but she did. She cried to me, I cried to her, and then that was it. I saw her during the Goodbyes, but it still doesn't seem enough; I want to see her one last time, but I know that can't happen. I just miss her as a person; she was so kind, caring, and she always made me laugh, but now, I'm here. I'm here all alone, without Dante, too.

Although Dante never admitted it, he was just a shy guy. Whenever it turned dark, he'd always get scared and wanted to go home, and if he ever saw a bug, he'd scream like a little girl. I smirk at the thought of him trying so hard to impress us, and it makes me giggle. He always had a hard time talking to other girls besides me and Alizarin, even though he used to tell us that he was so good with talking to girls. He wasn't, and neither was Alizarin or I.

We were just the three friends.

We promised to always stick by each other's side, but now… I don't know if I can fulfill my part of the promise.

I was always so nice and so loyal to the two of them, always telling myself that I'd never leave their side. That I would always be friends with them, even when we got older, but now, I don't know what I am to them. I hope they're still thinking of me, and I hope they even cried over me.

It just shows that they are my friends.

Now that I'm in the Hunger Games, what is going to happen? Will we still be friends after all this?

I still don't want to face death. I just don't want to die, especially for Alizarin and Dante. They will see it on the television or hear about it, and once they hear, I know they'll give up themselves. Whenever they were having a problem, I was always the one to help them and make them feel about themselves.

Who will do that now?

If I die, that's just another problem for them. Another problem that this time I won't be able to help with. It's all the Hunger Games fault, nobody else's. I guess it's the Capitol's too, but it's mostly the Hunger Games.

The Games are what will be the ruin of my friendship with them.

That's why I dislike them so much. In general, I dislike people getting hurt, but people dying?! It's just so horrible. So, so horrible. I feel awful when I hear about random citizens dying from starvation or natural deaths in District, but being murdered? That's even worse.

And you know what's even worse than that?

When children are killing each other.

"Almost done," the stylist says, making me realize that I haven't been paying attention. "You're much cleaner than most tributes we get!"

The two others laugh at her, and I smile, not really getting the joke. Once they're done, I sit back up, knowing that next I will be putting on my costume for the Chariot Rides. I hope it's something colorful and pretty; that would make me feel better. I'm sure Alizarin and Dante would like that too.

The main stylist pulls away a curtain, showing my outfit behind it. I widen my eyes, the bright blue color of it making me want to put it on right away. It's kind of large, with a large piece of cloth fitting around my whole head, but I love it. Standing up from the table, I go over to it, feeling it with my finger. It's soft and I still can't get over the blue color.

"I love it!"

They all laugh, and begin to put it on me. The large headpiece, with the same light blue color with different patterns and stitches fit around my head. The rest of the outfit is a one piece, with the same various patterns and stitches going down to my feet. It covers my forehead, my hands, and my feet. It's all covered except for my face, and I look at myself in the mirror, looking like some monster.

A funny monster, though. One that I could scare Dante with.

They apply some light blue make up to my face, and the feeling of it makes me feel weird. I've never used anything like this before, so I'm new to it, but it makes me look pretty. It makes me feel good about myself, and this time, I don't need Alizarin or Dante for me to feel good about myself.

It probably won't last too long, though.

Stepping backwards, I still look at myself in the mirror, and put on the shoes. The shoes are just flat light blue shoes, so it's nothing special, but now my outfit is completely made. It's much larger than what District Eight usually has on, but I still love it no matter what.

I hope everyone else likes it just as much as I do.

With this, people won't see how sad I am. They'll see the happy side of me, the one that Alzarin and Dante always loved about me. I won't be sad for them, I'll try my hardest.

I can't be sad for them.

I'm still their friend, I know it.

Nothing can ever break our friendship.

* * *

**Avis Lowery  
District Twelve Male, 17 Years Old**

* * *

"Looking great, Fawn," I sneer, punching her gently in the shoulder. "No one will ever know you're from Twelve."

Some of the dust from her arms got on my knuckles, and I brush them off, the black of it staining my own hands now. Although we're both matching in outfits, I don't have a problem laughing at her about hers. We both know how stupid we look, how artificial we look, and once this is over, we'll both tear it off.

It's all to impress the Capitol, though. Not us.

So I just have to suck it up until then.

"You're looking handsome yourself," she replies, holding out her hand towards the chariot. "Ladies first."

I let out a laugh, not really wanting to laugh at her joke, but I admit, it was funny. She smiles, and I step onto the chariot, holding out my hand to help her up. Grabbing it, she smears some more of the dust on her body onto me, and I roll my eyes. The stylists make everything so inconvenient for us.

Fawn and I stand on the chariot facing forward, waiting for everyone to get in line. District Twelve goes last, so it gives me enough to scan over all of the other tributes before they go out. In front of us, District Eleven stands, the male wearing some outfit with vines, accessorized with fake vegetables and fruits on it. Well, they might be real, but I don't know. The vines are covering certain areas, leaving most of his body exposed, his white skin something you don't see all the time from Eleven. The girl next to him is much shorter, wearing the same type of outfit; vines, exposed skin, and a few vegetables and fruit here and there. They're both wearing a headpiece that is almost like a laurel, and in the back, there's an apple hanging from it that is acting as a knot.

So creative, really. The agriculture District.

The gate all the way at the front opens, the cheering seeming quiet from where we are. I know it's probably much louder, but I can't hear much in the back. District One's chariot jerks forward, the horses' neighs mixing with all of the cheers. The two from One are both wearing luxurious outfits; they're huge, colorful, and clearly represents the luxury. She looks like some princess, with a large dress on that is swallowing her whole body a wig that extends high into the air full of gems. The boy is wearing a tuxedo of some sort, just as colorful and full of gems as his female counter-part.

Can't go wrong with luxury for the luxury District.

Next, District Three is up, whose outfits really don't impress me. They're sort of like Eleven's, but instead of vines, it's wires. Wires cover some parts of their bodies, exposing the rest. They have head pieces as well, but it's just various colored wires. Nothing's lighting up or moving like District Three usually has.

Our chariot moves forward a little, and I crane my head, trying to take a peek at District Four who's already out. They're both wearing randomly placed fabrics of blue, just draped over them. It looks like an ocean, with some of it being shiny and having the illusion of moving.

After them, it's District Five, who are just dressed in a metallic outfit. It's shiny, tight, and has designs on it. Both of them are wearing a large headpiece, which extends down to their feet, which has spinning disks on it. The disks are going in circles around the tributes, looking like a tornado of some sort. Their outfits are probably the funniest so far, and I even see the contempt in the male's face, while the girl is just staring blankly.

District Six is just wearing – what it looks like – train tracks on their outfits. It's just strips of train tracks going from their neck down to their feet. Around their necks, though, there seems to be a train going around it. It's not on their neck, but on its on track that extends from the collars of their outfits. I'd probably get distracted with that, to be honest. It's sort of like District Five, with moving objects and all.

I take that back, no. District Seven is the funniest. They are literally supposed to be a tree. They are wearing a costume that looks like a tree trunk and bark, and then their hair is supposed to be the top of the tree. There are little fake birds and fruits in their hair, but the outfits look weird on the two tributes since they're younger and small.

"Glad we don't look like that," I whisper to Fawn, who's already smiling.

Our chariot begins to move now, and it's getting harder to look at the other Districts, but I manage to see Eight's a little. Eight is wearing these large pieces of fabric around them, and it's swallowing them whole; I can barely see their faces. District Nine is wearing strands of grain all over their body – sort of like Three and Eleven – and have a matching headpiece. Ten is wearing cow-print outfits, with a bell around their neck. The stylists really try hard to match their outfits with their District.

It always fails, but I mean, they do show what District they're from.

Like Fawn and I. We're wearing short sleeves and shorts, and then the rest of our skin is all black powder. There's powder even on our faces and both of our hair was dyed black. We're all black, but that's about it; it's nothing special, compared to the rest.

When our chariot approaches the gates, I prepare myself, not sure how I want to look. I can either not smile and look mad, smile and look happy, or just wave and play to the audience. Niobe told me to take my clothes off, but I'm not sure that would be the best idea.

Once we're outside, Fawn begins to turn her head from side to side, smiling, and I figure I should do the same. I wave to the audience, their screams and chants giving me a headache. My smile gets wider, and I extend my arm higher into the air, wanting to get as much attention as I can.

With an outfit like ours, we'll be overlooked compared to the rest.

The chariots begin to form a semi-circle around at the bottom of a high balcony. I look around at the tributes one last time, looking at they're all reacting. The ones from One look all into it; waving, smiling, giving the audience exactly what they want. District Two and Four are doing the same, but then there are Districts like Five and Six that barely have any emotion. I continue to do what I've been doing, knowing that I might as well not stop now.

We're almost done.

On the balcony above, the doors open, and a figure stands at the edge. It's the President – President Carton. He looks down at us, then at the audience, and then back down at us.

"Welcome, tributes!"

In reply, there are even louder screams and cheers, and it takes a while for them to be silenced. The tributes just stand in their chariots, not moving, and I do the same. I look back at Fawn, whose eyes are peering up at him, and then the President begins to speak again.

"Tributes – we salute your courage and sacrifice!"

There's another wave of screams and cheers, this time much louder. They gradually get louder, the sounds making my ears pound. President Carton stands there, silently and without movement, and then finishes up his statements.

"We wish you all a Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!"

Oh, that's just so nice of him; wishing us good luck.

Who could've guessed he's so nice? He's wishing us good luck.

"Happy Hunger Games," I repeat, catching Fawn's attention. "Happy, happy, happy Hunger Games!"

"And may the odds be ever in your favor," she replies, laughing a little. "Actually, I take that back. May the odds be ever in _my_ favor."

Even though I'm laughing about it, she has a point. May the odds be ever in _my_ favor, too. Not just hers.

_I'll need more than just luck to win, though._

_I'll need much more to win than just that. _

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Yeah, another random chapter. You can tell me what you guys felt and thought about this chapter and this section of tributes.

Now, we've met six tributes, so I wonder who we'll meet next?


	7. Training Day One

w w w. riotofcolorhg. blogspot. c o m

w w w. halloffamethg. blogspot. c o m

* * *

**Coleen Morisette  
District Four Female, 18 Years Old**

* * *

"Attention, tributes. Attention."

Turning around to the monotonous voice, my eyes drift upwards, noticing a man hovering over us on a balcony. He's tall, a little too tall in my opinion, and is rather muscular. His arms are leaning on the balcony edge, his back hunched over, his shoulders broadened. Giving him my full attention, I listen carefully, already predicting he's about to say to us.

"My name is Titan, and you will address me as such," he says, his voice cold. "I will be your Head Trainer for the next three days, whether you like it or not."

I'd prefer to train on my own, only because I know what I'm capable of and I don't need any extra assistance. I'd rather work on my own, train on my own, and do things on my own, without his advice or his interference. I'll get over it, though, since maybe I can learn a few things. It's doubtful, but there's always the chance that I can something out of this that I didn't get by training back in Four.

"Soon, twenty three of you will be dead," he deadpans, his face remaining stoic. "One of you will be alive."

Smiling at his words, I take them to heart, knowing that the person he's referring could be me. It could be anyone, to be honest, but I won't doubt myself. Not this early on, anyway; I still have time to fulfill my potential and to concentrate on my own talents and abilities. And then, hopefully, I'll be that one to be alive.

"That one person is among us right now, while the twenty-three are the rest. Who that one person will be all depends on what you accomplish over the next three days; we are now in the Training process."

I crack my knuckles, the longing to just go and train already overwhelming me. I don't need any pep-talk or a word of advice; I'll be just fine on my own. He's telling me everything I already know, from a mixture of what the Training Academy told me in Four about and what I already knew from personal experience.

"The rest, you know what to do, and if not, that is why you're here."

It's funny – how ironic he is. If you don't know what you're doing, there's no point of you even trying today, and if you do, here's your chance. I'm not saying that only Career Districts know what they're doing, since I do understand that other Districts have their own talents, such as Seven or Eleven. But, I do, however, think that we're just better off.

We just have that edge that a victor needs.

"Train, tributes. That is all I can say."

And that's what I plan on doing.

Orson comes over towards me, and without greeting him, I walk to the center of the Training Center. He follows me quietly, his boots clicking against the floor, making him seem like my lapdog already. It could come in handy, but whether I'd use someone so early on is debatable. Soon, the two from District Two make their way over, the two of them looking like complete opposites.

The boy is sauntering over towards, his good posture contrasting to the girl's slouched back and frizzy hair. She takes her whole hand to push it back, while the boy gracefully slicks his hair back some more. Whatever his name is more muscular than her, looking a tad athletic, definitely piquing my interest.

I can tell that this Career Pack will be varied this year, and with me in charge, I'll make it work.

"Helios Villard," he states, holding out his hand.

Orson shakes it, but I look past him, ignoring his gesture. I just don't want for Helios to think that this is some camaraderie; it's just an alliance, and that's all it is. I don't plan on forming any bonds or genuine friendships, they are just my allies and to help my chances.

"This is Cassio-" Helios starts, getting a glare from the girl next to him. "I mean, Cassia. This is Cassia."

"Welcome, Cassia," Orson replies, fidgeting a little as he extends his hand.

The two tributes from District One are making their way over finally, the girl's appearance just making me roll my eyes; another District One female through and through, no doubt. The boy looks just as pristine as the girl, both of them with a smirk on their face. They walk in unison, with the right foot first and then the left. Once the boy sees me looking, he waves his hand, while the girl just stares directly at me.

"Hi, I'm Orson and this is-" Orson begins, holding out his hand to them too, but is cut short by the One girl's sharp voice.

"I don't want to hear it," she says bluntly, taking her hand to push down Orson's. "I'm Aoife, this is Fabian, and I plan on taking responsibility of this year's Pack."

I hold back any emotion, even a laugh or a snort. Staring at her for a little, I take her image in, her tanned skin and athletic body making me a tad jealous. I get over it quickly, though, knowing that she wants exactly what I want. We all want the same thing at the end of the day, and I can't let her have it.

"Pardon?" I blurt out, already showing too much emotion. "Shouldn't we do this more fairly?"

"Why would we do that?" She retorts, giving me a disgusted look. "I'm in charge, does anyone have any objections?"

Without letting anyone respond or give her anymore satisfaction, my words just slipping out of my mouth. "Yes, actually, I do."

"It was rhetorical, sweetie," she quips, that same stupid smirk on her face. "I don't actually care."

"Listen, Aoife; this isn't how things are going to work," I snap back, trying to push down my anger. "It isn't your choice to just assign yourself as leader."

"Aren't you doing the same? Didn't you plan on being the leader?"

I'm taken back a little by her words, knowing that I was planning on doing the same thing she's doing right now. It might be hypocritical, and I'm not trying to excuse myself for it, but I didn't want it to be like that. I was going to offer, see what they say, and to be honest, I was going to be the leader regardless. And when I say this, trust me; I'm not going to let some bimbo from One tell me what to do.

Aoife over here won't get away with it that easily.

"As I said, I am Aoife, your leader. Now, I want a line in front of me, and I want you to tell me your name, age, and any talents you think are worth my time," she spits out, clapping her hands.

Helios and Cassia shuffle a little bit, hesitantly forming a line. Orson begins to step towards the others, and I put my hand out in front of him, my body shaking with anger. She really has the nerve to tell us to form a line?

"Stop it, you three," I command, my voice serious. "I'll give you one more chance, Aoife, to cut the shit."

Aoife lets out a giggle, fixing her hair after she swallows her laughter. "Don't get so uptight, Coleen. You just have to understand that you aren't going to get what you want."

"Is that so?" I ask, my voice shaky. "Will I really not get what I want?"

Aoife puckers her lips, nods her head, and then looks at her nails. "Why, yes, you won't."

Resisting the urge to have an outburst right now, I calm myself down, knowing that just getting mad over her is giving her the satisfaction she wants. She's doing this on purpose, to antagonize me, just to get on my bad side. Aoife's just doing this all on purpose, but I'm still not over her trying to be leader.

That is my role, and whether she likes it or not, I'll be a leader of something.

"Guys, come on," Fabian interjects, his high-pitched voice striking come on. "Let's just vote: Who wants Aoife as leader?"

After he asks his question, he raises his own hand, followed by Aoife. Helios, Cassia, and Orson remain silent, not moving a muscle or even looking like they're breathing. Their eyes are shifting from side to side, probably trying to assess the situation to see if we're serious.

"I want Coleen," Cassia mumbles, her eyebrows furrowing. "I don't like you, Aoife."

"Sorry, Coleen," Helios adds, already standing next to Fabian. "I'm going with Aoife, if you don't mind."

Orson is already standing next to me, his hands clenched into fists. "I'm for Coleen."

Well, either way, we're at another stalemate. Even though we just attempted to solve this fairly, we're still at 3-3 tie. Aoife's probably going to take this as a sign that she still deserves to be the leader, for some odd reason.

"How about we make things interesting?" Aoife chimes in, the smirk on her face wider. "How about we divvy up the Careers this year? I'll take Helios, Fabian, and I, and I'll recruit anyone else I can. You can have the rest, Coleen."

At first, I don't like the idea or even understand it. But, after I think about it, it makes sense. If we were to have two separate groups, our problems would be gone. Sure, we'd only have three people, but like she suggested, we can recruit more. I can recruit the other tributes that seem to be promising or show potential. It's not something I'd like to, but at this point, I have to do.

I can't let Aoife think she's superior to me. I didn't volunteer to be passive, did I?

"Fine," I snap, turning my back to the three of them. "This isn't over, Aoife."

"It won't be over until you're dead, Coleen," Aoife quips again, the sound their footsteps walking away making me madder.

Now she's talking about me being dead? Isn't she insinuating that she wants to kill me?

Aoife's just taking it too far now. She's taking this as some challenge, as some tournament to prove her dominance, just to make herself feel better. It's petty to me, but if she wants a challenge, I'll give her one. I don't know what Cassia can do, but I know some things about Orson, and by the looks of it, we're the stronger group.

Fabian's just a child, Helios is too proper, and Aoife… she's reckless.

If they're serious about recruiting other tributes, I have to do the same. It's just another problem to deal with, really; now, it's going to be a scramble for any tributes that seem promising or show potential. If I want to accrue the tributes that will benefit me most, I have to act quick.

I can't waste my time training; I have to complete my group.

And, as much as I hate receiving help, I have to suck it up now. This time, I'll be asking for the help, seeming all weak and pitiful to the other tributes, but I have to deal with it. It's hypocritical of me, once again; I reject any help that's offered to me, but now, I'm asking for help.

I'm asking help all to prove something to this stupid girl.

_But, isn't that why I volunteered? To prove myself?_

_To show who I really am?_

* * *

**Devan Halloway  
District Five Male, 17 Years Old**

* * *

"It's vexing, how erroneous your endeavors to achieve a quintessential score is."

_What?_

Stiffening up at the sound of the deep voice behind me, I slowly turn my head, the figure behind me making me narrow my eyes at him. His tall frame, with his pale skin reflecting the light off of it, hovers over me, his face covered by the shadow of his own body. He's scrawny in nature, and the way his body is disproportionate with the rest makes me want me to laugh, but I don't make a noise or respond to him in any way.

I turn back around, restarting the simulation, and I prepare myself to ignore him as long as he's behind me. Continuing with the game, I assort the plants into edible or poisonous, and every time I get one wrong, I hear a snicker from behind me. I clench my teeth, trying to push his noises out of my mind, knowing that what he thinks doesn't matter.

I'd like to see him try and do this; maybe then I'd laugh.

"Incorrect," he whispers, his voice creepily quiet. "Incorrect again."

After trying a few more times, I still manage to get most of them wrong, always placing them in the edible section when they're poisonous. I restart the program, about to try again, maybe this time without this boy's side comments. After I start it, I get the first one wrong, expecting the boy to say something.

"Incorrect," he repeats, his body hunched over, looking down at my screen.

And that's when I say something.

"Do you mind?"

"No."

Standing up, choosing to not respond to him again, I try to think if I should just walk away or try to talk to this boy. I'm sure I wouldn't get anything interesting out of him, so it'd be best just to walk away, but something's keeping me here. I just don't know what.

"No what?"

"I don't mind."

Nodding my head, trying not to shake my head at disbelief at what this boy is saying. "Why are you speaking like that?"

"I'm Fausten Fraser from District Six," he says, standing up straight. "And you are?"

Staring at him, I choose once again not to answer, not wanting him to know anything about him. I don't want to tell anyone my name, mostly because I don't want them to get to know me. I don't want to make a friend or a pal, knowing that any relationship here would be pointless.

They'd all end in the same way.

"And you are?" He repeats, his voice staying the same pitch.

"Devan, from Five," I finally tell him, my voice quiet. "Is there a reason you're here?"

"I'll be frank in this current situation, being more than aware that you want me to depart soon."

Why does he feel the need to talk like that?

"I, Fausten, want to be allies with you, Devan."

_Allies?_

But, I barely know him. Even though I know nothing about him, he probably just wants to use me somehow. He started this conversation all for some purpose, for some way to make his victory easier. He'll just use me in the process, and through his deceit, he expected me to fall for it.

"Why?" I ask, genuinely curious about his motives and why he's asking. "Why me, of all people?"

"You're an interesting specimen who piqued my interest. Do you accept my offer for an alliance?"

As much as I don't want to, I want to say yes. As much as I interest him, he interests me. I know I'm so used to pushing people away and closing myself off, but this time, I don't want to do that. Even if I say yes, I don't have to go through with it, but if that's the case, then I'd be deceiving him as well.

Wouldn't being allies form some relationship between us, though? Something I've always tried to avoid.

Back in District Five, I trusted no one. I've never bothered with the people that were around me, the same people I saw every day and the people I've lived with for most of my life. I never gave them any attention, knowing that they'd have some ulterior motive in talking to me and that they wouldn't actually care for me. So, in return, I lacked care and concern for them and their well-being.

I've seen many sides of different people, and I know what to look for now.

As I get older, I become more perceptive and knowledgeable about people, but I don't know about Fausten. As I said, he seems different, but I don't know why. One thing I do like about him is how honest he is; I do respect and require honest in a person. He is telling me that he's only wanting to ally with me because I'm interesting, which is kind of odd, so I don't really know how to react to that. He's so atypical, that's the word. He isn't what you expect for someone coming from such a District like Six.

"Yes," I utter, the word coming out of my voice quietly. "I accept the offer."

With that, Fausten turns around, and begins to walk away. He doesn't look back, and I feel like I should say something after him, but I go against it. It'd draw too much attention, something I don't want right now, and I really don't have anything else to say to him. He might interest me, but something's not right about him; making an alliance and then leaving me right after I accept it.

I shake my head, turning back around to the station I'm at. Although I don't know much about survival skills, I figure that I should deal with it at least a few times while I'm here. In the past arenas, they've come into play with several tributes, so that just makes me think that I should take the time to do something with them.

They could come in handy, if you really think about.

A few years ago, about ten, I believe, the arena was a greenhouse. There was no actual food in it, only plants, fruits, and such. It's one of the only arenas or Games I remember, mostly because of the arena; it was so different and so much more survival-based than others. If the arena this year is anything like that, I'd be prepared, but if it's not, I'd be prepared as well.

Not that I'm content with going into the Games, but I don't have much of a choice anymore. I know what to do, that's about it.

I'm not heartless to the point where I like seeing people I dislike die, but I'm not overly bothered by the Games. I do think they serve some purpose for the Capitol, but overall, they don't bother me. I watch them, I flinch when someone dies brutally, but I get over it. All I do is turn off the television and then live my life like any other day.

But, now that I'm in the Games, it might be different. I can be that person that dies brutally, and even then, the thought doesn't bother me that much.

The only thing that is off-putting to me is that my life is now in the hands of the Capitol. Besides that, I don't think much of the Capitol, but I do understand it. When it comes to authority, I know enough to remain distant and keep to myself, and not to get in the way of the Peacekeepers or make myself known in the District.

One thing I don't like is the way they treat the Districts; not just five, but all of them. I think about it from time to time, but then I realize the people I'm thinking about. It's just people from another District that I probably wouldn't care about, so why should I care about them as a whole?

I get over things like that quickly and easily.

While others dwell on the way the Capitol treats the Districts and how horrible the Games are, I don't. As much as I do think about it at times, I feel nothing towards them; I just feel numb. And that's what my life has been like for a while now.

Just one numb experience.

* * *

**Averil Disoto  
District Eleven Female, 15 Years Old**

* * *

Fondling the pieces of crumbled leaves in my hand, I can't help myself but reminisce about District Eleven.

It might not have been the _perfect_ place, but it was something. It was my own home, where my friends and families roamed, where I didn't feel like I had to be careful where I stepped or who I talked to.

Besides, what does perfect mean?

Every District – whether One or Twelve – all have problems. Poverty, famine, or just a gloomy atmosphere to it. Nothing's perfect in this world after all, not even the Careers over there, or even the Gamemakers up on that balcony. Everyone's flawed, and even though it might be weird to admit, I do have my flaws.

I laugh too often, I joke too often, and I miss out on making friends. In District Eleven I didn't really have that problem, since everyone was so nice and so friendly to me, but that's not the case here. Barely anyone wants to talk, and whenever someone does talk to me, it's about the Hunger Games.

I felt safe and welcomed in District Eleven, and to be frank, I don't feel the same way here.

It just doesn't feel right… knowing where we going. How could it?

Soon, we'll be of into the arena. Then what? People will only become more closed off and less friendly there; and there's nothing I can do about it. So, why shouldn't I follow suit?

Why should I trust people who would only turn on me?

As much as I'd love to have allies, I would just feel uncomfortable with them all the time. Now, if I were to have my friends Dennis, Bronchi, or Eliorna here, then maybe I would ally with someone. But, since they aren't, I won't think about it. I just feel like that I'd be better off on my own, not having to rely on someone or putting my safety in their hands.

They would just hold me back.

Hold me back from what, though, I'm not too sure. Winning isn't something I can see happening in my future, and I accept that. I accept my future, whether I die or not, but that's just because I'm unaware of what's coming for me. I might do well, I might die in the Bloodbath, or I might win.

What do I know?

One thing I do know is that I _hate _the Games. Words cannot even describe my feelings for them, it's just so warped. So warped and messed up, for a lack of a better word. They are sick, twisted, and utterly disgusting – there's no reason for any of it. I don't see the purpose behind the Games, regardless of what the District tells me or what I am attempted to be brainwashed with.

I will never, ever grasp the concept of the Games.

It's just so wrong. So, so, so wrong.

And the only people I can blame are in the Capitol. The President, the Gamemakers, and the Peacekeepers. All of them.

The officials of the Capitol are the worst types of people. They send innocent children into the arena to fight other children, to watch for their own gain and entertainment. They are sick and terrible people, in my opinion. If everyone else agrees with me, I just don't know. I can't be the only one, though – I just can't be.

The actual citizens of the Capitol I don't detest as much as others, simply because I feel bad for them sort of. They're so deluded, naïve, and so influenced by the Capitol into acting the way that they do. The people have no idea what the Capitol does to the Districts, how they treat them, and how they punish them; they know nothing. They just sit back, watch the Games, and cry when their favorites die.

Not one of them had to work hard in their lives, so why should they be allowed to rely so heavily on the Districts in return? What do we owe to them?

Why would a District like Eleven be obligated to provide anything for them? Especially _food_? Why do they deserve to eat what we produce, just to ship away and not get any for ourselves?

Those are the questions I want answers to.

Especially the ones regarding District Eleven. They do nothing bad; they only do what he Capitol wants, so why do we get the worst punishment? Why do they treat us in such a poor way?

Peacekeepers are always strict there, always yelling or threatening to shoot their weapons. The Capitol just relies on Eleven too much, which only puts more pressure on the District. The relationship between Eleven and the Capitol is awful; Eleven complies with everything the Capitol demands, while the Capitol reaps all the benefits and still treats the District like garbage.

Eleven might be one of the poorest Districts, but the people there are lovely, and they always will be. Most of the time, anyway. It's beautiful and wonderful to live in, but I must admit, it'd be nice to liver in a wealthier District. That's all in my mind, since I know that can never happen. I would have always been stuck in District Eleven, but now, I'm in the Hunger Games.

And who knows where I'll go from here.

Tapping my foot, I wait patiently on the line for the climbing-rope section, watching the other tributes that are ahead of me carefully. I might as well use my time wisely; learn a few things about the people rather than just wandering aimlessly like the girl from Seven has been doing.

Alise, I believe her name is, tried to talk to me earlier. But, I didn't know how to respond; she asked why my skin was dark, so I just chose to ignore it. Whether she was joking or not, it wasn't amusing or intriguing enough for me to answer her. I simply walked away, coming right to this section.

The only people who've gone were the girl from Six, boy from Seven, and in front of me is the boy from Twelve.

The girl from Six messed up a little, but I don't blame her at all. It's nerve wrecking to do these things in front of so many people, especially when you know they are all watching you. The boy from Seven had it down pat a little better than the other girl did, but his foot slipped a few times.

The boy from Twelve looks different, though. He's much taller and more muscular than the others.

He steps up, attaches the harness around him sloppily, not connecting all the loops and clip all the way. The instructor attempts to tell him to stop and fix it, but the boy just walks past him, and steps up to the ropes that extend from the ground all the way up to the ceiling. The ropes on the actual ceiling are thinner, and by the looks of it, harder, probably for the more experienced tributes.

He places his foot on the first loop, brings his arm above his head, and without much hesitation, begins to climb. He's quick at it, too, swinging his legs to the side and then following through with his hands. He continues to go upwards, not messing up once or letting his foot slip. He's finally at the top, and he lets go of the rope with one hand, swings around, and dangles there. He looks down at me, a smirk on his face, and then he comes back down the ropes backwards.

Risking hurting yourself right before the Games, now there's an idea.

The Twelve boy is approached by some of the tributes from the Career Districts, but not all; it's only the two from District One, the boy from Two, and that's it. They walk away, and I am tempted to watch what they're doing or hear what they're saying, but I can't get distracted now.

I step up to the instructor, holding out my arms for him to put the harness on me. I've never done or used one of these things before, so I really don't want to mess it up. I wouldn't want to hurt myself, especially not right now. A harness might not be in the arena for me to use, but whatever; I just want to be safe.

The instructor lets go, gives me a gentle push forward, and I stand in front of the ropes. I want to follow what the boy from Twelve did, but I know I can climb without copying him. I used to climb trees and fences all the time in District Eleven, so this can't be too different. I grab one of the pieces of rope on the wall, bringing my two feet up on the bottom. I begin to climb slowly, shaking a little bit as I go.

Why do I feel nervous now?

I continue to climb, trying to push aside all my nerves, knowing that it's only climbing and I won't hurt myself; I've done this tons of times, and even if people are watching me, I can still do it. I'm almost at the top, and as I finally reach it, I make a larger climb on the rope, skipping over a few spaces.

I make it, and I smile to myself, glancing down at the ground. The instructor isn't even looking at me, the Gamemakers aren't looking at me, and no one is even on the line for this station.

Why am I so overlooked?

What makes me less important than anyone else here?

At the end of the day, we all have the same chances.

Each of us can die, whether we accept it or not.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

I'm running out of things to say..

Who stood out? Not just the tributes that had POVs, but others as well? Yeah, let's go with that.

And time for a personal question!

_What is your favorite color?_


	8. Training Day Two

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* * *

**Aoife Cosette  
District One Female, 18 Years Old**

* * *

"Let's go, everyone! Chop-chop!"

Clapping my hands, I try to inspire the Pack to do something, not just to sit around and be lethargic. Ever since Training started, they've done nothing except roam around me, but that's not what I want. I want them go out, make ourselves known, and possibly recruit someone.

I'd rather the recruiting be in my hands, but I want to see what Fabian, Helios, and now Avis, deem a potential tribute. I know who I have my eye on, and now, I just want to see who pique their interest. Their decisions mean nothing to me, though; I just want to see what they're like and possibly give me an idea.

In the Career Pack this year, I have the final say. Whether or not they like it is not my problem.

Avis is the first one to depart, heading right for the spear station where the boy from Seven and the girl from Ten are. I dismiss the two of them, not deeming them qualified for the Career Pack. Fabian goes to the swords station where only the boy from Eleven is and Helios goes to the plant-identification station where the boy from Six is.

Once again, all tributes that I am disregarding. I might not want to be the leader this year, but I won't turn down a challenge. I'll make the best of it, show my capabilities and my talents through it, and I'll be the best leader the Careers have seen yet.

Coleen could have been the leader, but she had to fight and work for it. I wasn't going to let her have it so quickly and so easily, so I wanted to make things interesting. Apparently, she over-reacted about it all, making things more complicated than they had to be. Indeed, I did offer to split the Careers this year, but it's only because Coleen would have no other way.

I don't consider what I did manipulation. It was never in my intention for it to turn out like this; I just wanted to see how she was and how she would react to me. Besides, I would never be manipulative; that's petty. Using your words and actions just to get something you want at a faster pace or easier than what it would have been if you didn't.

If you want something, you have to earn it.

That's something I've learned throughout my life.

Locating Coleen with the lesser end of the Careers – Cassiopeia and Orson, only – I smile. We're up to four now, while they're still at three. I might not know what training Coleen has been through, but I can assure you, I am better off. District One has always been more competitive – more determined – than Four has ever been.

District One might have bored me at times, but it is respectable.

Much more respectable than District Four, definitely.

I put all my thoughts to the side, knowing that I shouldn't be wasting my time right now. I should be training or interacting with other tributes, not sitting here and dwelling on the enemy. I'll have my time to deal with her in the Hunger Games, and even though I can barely wait until then, I'll try.

I'll try to hold myself back before we get into the arena. Where I can be myself, I can do whatever I want, and I can act how I want. There are no rules in the arena; no regulations, checks on you, or criticism if you do something that someone doesn't like. In the arena, there is freedom.

The freedom I've craved my whole life.

Humming a quiet tune, I walk towards the throwing knife station, only seeing Cassiopeia there now. Once again, I'd never lie or manipulate her, but I can try to talk to her though. She might be the enemy, but she's the weakest link mentally out of them all. She might have said she doesn't like me, but I don't believe it.

It had to be an impulse.

I approach the knives station, looking closely at everything Cassiopeia's begins to do. There are several targets in front of her, all of them untouched and waiting for her to hit them. She picks up several knives, examining them all in the light, and picks only two from the bunch. She rubs her fingers on the metal, looks at her reflection on it, and then aims. It's too quick to be an aim, too fast paced to have any careful thought behind it.

She lets the knife fly, hitting bulls-eye dead on.

I stop in my steps, putting my hand on my hip, my lips curling into a smile. She lets the other knife at even a quicker speed, the knife digging itself right into the target. She doesn't turn around, going right to the knives some more. This time, she picks a more hooked knife, one that has a curved blade. Without gripping it too tightly, she whips it at the target, the knife spinning in a forward-circle in the air perfectly.

Another bulls-eye.

With her last knife, she raises her arm high in the air, bending it a little. She spins around quickly, her eyes shut, and when she turns completely around, she lets her last knife fly. It glides through the air much quicker than the others, the circle it spinning in now almost hard to see fully. It hits another target with a loud thud, the other targets around all with knives in the same exact spot.

All bulls-eye.

"Well, isn't that just adorable," I sneer, walking over right next to her.

I look at her from the side of my eye, giving her a nice smile to show her that I want to be friendly. Or, at least attempt to be friendly. All I want is one nice conversation, one where I can get to know her and where she can get to know me.

That's all I'm asking for.

"Do you know what one of these is?" She says, holding a knife up to me.

It's leveled with my eye, the blade reflecting the light from above right into me. I stare at the knife, not at her, my smile growing wider. Nodding my head, I swipe the knife out of her hand, holding it in my own.

From the side, I throw the knife, not looking where it lands in the target. I'm expecting it to land in bulls-eye or at least near it, knowing that if I were to fully position myself, I would be able to do the same exact thing as Cassiopeia just did. Cassiopeia claps, her head turning to the side, her hands already having another knife in them.

Cassiopeia holds the knife in front of me again, this one skinnier and sharper. She brings it closer to my face, and as I try to grab it out of her hand again, she pulls it away. She throws it quickly at the same target I just threw mine at, her knife hitting bulls-eye exactly. Mine only missed it by a few inches, but still, I already gave her too much satisfaction.

I'm done here, now.

"Don't strain yourself, Cassiopeia."

Cassiopeia shoots her head back at me, her eyes glaring down at me. She steps towards me, her hands clenched into fists, her shoulders raised. From the look in her eyes, something has to be wrong, but all I did was tell her not to strain herself? I'm genuinely concerned for her well-being, really.

"Is something wrong?" I ask, battering my eyelashes.

"My name is Cassia," she whispers into my ear, her warm breath on my face. "And you will call me as such."

Puckering my lips, I shake my head. "No, I believe your name is Cassiopeia. That's what you said at the Reaping."

Cassiopeia grunts again, her face coming closer to mine. We're face to face now, our eyes staring directly into each other's, none of us budging. We stand like this for a few moments, and I stand there stiffly, waiting for her to give up. I don't give up for anything, especially not to some girl like this one.

Giving up isn't something I do often.

"Cassiopeia," I whisper, narrowing my eyes.

Cassiopeia hovers over me a little, her head above mine, both of us still staring into each other's eyes. She flares her nostrils, shows me some of her teeth, and then angles her neck. She opens to her mouth to say something, but she is quickly pulled back, the sight of Coleen and Orson behind her letting me breathe again.

"It's nice of you to show up," I say, wiping the feeling of Cassiopeia's breath on me away. "It's always a pleasure to see you all."

"Leave her alone," Coleen snaps, standing in front of Cassiopeia. "Don't be a child."

I can hear footsteps coming up from behind me, and I assume their Fabian, Helios, and Avis'. Looking quickly behind me, I notice that they are all there now, which makes me take a step or two back. Nodding to Coleen, I turn back around, letting myself be shrouded by my allies.

I'm done here.

I've had my fun, and now, I'll go do something else.

I'll have more time with Coleen and her allies later, and when that times come, it won't be easy light-hearted and jovial as our latest interactions.

They'll be much more… _thrilling_.

And I never pass up a chance to be thrilled.

* * *

**Alise Cambrie  
****District Seven Female, 12 Years Old**

* * *

An ally is a friend.

A friend who will talk to you, make you laugh, and keep you company. One who will make you feel happy, who won't let you be sad, and who will be there right next to you as sleep.

That's what Duke told me. Cassia just laughed at this, but I don't know why. It makes sense to me, and just because Duke told me this, I want one. I want an ally.

I just don't know what to do, though.

I was scared at first to ask someone, but after I saw everyone else talking to each other, I did it. I asked someone to be my ally, but I think they said no. It was the boy from Nine, Joseph. He had such a nice name that I wanted to ally with him. I said hello, told him my name, and then asked if he wanted to be friends.

He said no, so I asked again. He still said no.

Then, he walked away, leaving me by myself. I sat there alone, my eyes wet, upset that he left me. He just left me alone, no one by my side, without even saying good-bye. That showed that he wasn't a good ally or friend. He was neither, and I hope no one becomes friends with him now.

He doesn't deserve any friends.

Dragging my finger across the piece of paper, I make swirls with the yellow paint, drawing random shapes. I giggle as I do it, the color and shape looking like the sun back in District Seven. The happy place I used to sleep in, where I would see my parents and friends, the place where I'm not anymore. I'll be back soon, though.

This whole thing only last a few weeks, I heard. It'll all be over after that, and then I can return home.

With my other finger, I put some of the green paint on it, the color looking like the trees of District Seven. The trees I used to climb on, used to laugh on, and the trees that I'll soon come back to. There are no trees here, only weird ropes on the walls that I'm supposed to climb. But, I don't want to.

I want to climb trees.

I put some more paint on my fingers, all different colors this time, and close my eyes. Moving my fingers all around the paper, I draw whatever I can think of, not opening them until I feel my fingers leaving the paper. I giggle some more, the touch of the paint on the paper and on the paper feeling weird.

"That is beautiful! I love the color red, do you?"

Opening my eyes, I see a girl in front of me, almost as short as me. She has brown hair, though, not blonde like I do. She has nice eyes, the brown color of it reminding me of the trees in District Seven too.

"So do I! What about yellow?" I point at her, some of the paint dripping off, landing on the paper.

"That's one of my favorite colors!" She says back, putting some of the paint on her fingers too.

I hand her a piece of paper, keeping the one I've been using to myself, only wanting me to finish it. She begins to move her fingers around the piece of paper too, and I go back to doing that, all of the colors smudging on it. We sit there being quiet, except when we both giggle a few times at our painting.

"This is so much fun," she whispers to me, the color blue all over her paper. "I wish everything was just as this much fun."

Shrugging, I push my hair back, some of the paint getting on my cheek. "You just have to make everything fun."

"How can I make something fun? Most of the things here are boring and hard," she says quietly, now putting green on her fingers. "I can't do any of it."

"Well, you're good at painting!" I smile at her, putting a dot of yellow on her paper. "That is the best painting I've ever seen!"

"Do you really think so?" She looks at me, a smile on her face.

I nod at her, a smile on my face too, and we both go back to painting. At times, we put little dots of our colors on each other's paper, making the both of us laugh. I'm having a lot of fun with this girl, but I don't even know her name yet.

"What is your name? I'm Alise."

"Poplin Silvers," she says, putting another dot on my paper. "Alise is such a nice name."

"Thank you, Poplin," I say back, knowing that I'm supposed to say that whenever someone says something nice to me.

That's what my parents always taught me; to say my pleases, thank yous, and you're welcomes.

"Poplin, do you have any friends?" I ask, wanting to be her friend. She seems like a great friend.

"I do! Their names are Alzarin and Dante; Alzarin is a girl and Dante is a boy. I love them, especially Alzarin," she says to me, putting a different color on her finger. "What about you?"

I shake my head. I never had any friends in District Seven or even here; no one ever wanted to talk to me. I would talk to my family; they were my friends, but no one ever my age. She can be my first true friend.

"Do you want to be my friend, Poplin? Do you want to be allies?" I ask, a smile on my face, hoping that she says yes.

"Yes, Alise. I'd love to be allies with you," she says, poking my nose with her finger, putting some red paint on it.

I laugh, trying to say something back to her, but I can't say it. She laughs too, and I poke her in the cheek, green paint on her cheek. We laugh some more, poking each other with our fingers, putting paint on our faces.

Poplin is the best friend I've ever had.

Now, I can tell Duke that I have a friend and an ally, and this time, I hope Cassia doesn't laugh.

Poplin and I are going to have the best time in the Capitol, I just know it.

* * *

**Fawn Brett  
District Twelve Female, 18 Years Old**

* * *

_One, two, three – shoot._

Knocking another arrow on the bowstring, I squint my right eye, trying to take in what I've seen the Careers do when shooting an arrow. It's supposed to help with aiming, but for some reason, it never seems to work. The arrow always seems to miss completely, just land in the shoulder or the foot, never hitting bulls-eye.

_One, two, three – shoot._

It speeds past the dummy, embedding itself in the plush matt on the wall behind it. I count the amount of arrows missed, which is five at least on the wall, and who knows where the others went. I only hit the dummy three times; once in the shoulder, once in the foot, and once in the hand.

Looking down at the several sheaths I've used up, I notice one more arrow, figuring that I might as well just shoot it. Archery was never a skill I had any practice with, and honestly, the only reason I'm at this station is because no one else was. Here, I could just relax, not expecting someone to say something to me or give me any unwanted looks.

Training is my quiet time where I can think, reflect, and plan.

Knocking the last arrow on the bowstring, I steadily breathe in and out, trying to not shake or fidget at all. I steady the arrow on the string, pull it back all the way, and count to three in my head one last time. Letting the arrow fly, it slices through the air, heading straight for the target this time.

It lands in the chest; the best spot I've hit yet.

"Only if you could pull that off more than once," a female voice says from behind me, her words laced with a condescending tone. "Then maybe we'd have something going."

"What?" I ask, placing the bow back on the table, turning around afterwards. "What is that supposed to mean?"

It's the girl from District One, Aoife, with the boy from Two, Helios, behind her. Looking around for her allies, including Avis now, I'm surprised that they aren't together. Avis chose to join them yesterday, and I still don't know why. I would have allied with him if he asked, but now since he's with the Careers, I'm probably the last thing on his mind.

"Your District partner said you had potential. That you had an edge that you could bring to the Career Pack this year."

"Thank-"

"But, I don't see it," she snaps, her head cocked upwards. "All I see is a feeble girl mediocrely trying to shoot an arrow."

I keep quiet, mostly because I don't have a response. I could probably think of something to say, but the last thing I could use right now is an enemy. An enemy of her strength, of her character; one who could kill me in a heartbeat. With one quick flick of the head, she could slit my throat, and she would feel no remorse.

She would go on with her life, just deeming me an obstacle that she overcame.

"Well, that's it," she says, spinning on her heel, waving her hand as she leaves. "If we're that desperate, maybe we'll come back!"

Glancing back at the bow and the empty sheaths, I take her words into account, knowing that I just made a fool of myself because I didn't go to a station that I could have done somewhat well at. Maybe if I went to the knife station or the fire making station, then she would have offered to be my ally.

But, even if she did, would I accept the offer? Would I really become a Career?

It seems faulty. A Career from One asking a random girl from Twelve like myself to join the Careers. One thing I overheard Avis talking about on the floor last night, though, was that the Careers are split this year. This probably has something to do with it, just going out to recruit anyone they can find. If Avis was recruited, I can only imagine who else will be recruited. Not for me, of course.

I lost my chance.

They'd probably just end up backstabbing me, though, and would never care for me. They would never actually care for me or my well-being, and if I were to be attacked, they'd just leave me. They would just get up, leave, and ditch me to protect themselves. I'm not being a cynical person about any of this, but I've seen it before; an outer-District tribute recruited in the Careers just to act as bait or as protection.

Now would be the best time to leave this station, so I do, heading towards the knife station. Not the throwing knife station, just the normal knife station where I can swing it around a bit. There's only one other tribute there, the female from Nine, so it can't be too bad. I'll try to talk to her, and if she seems fitting and friendly enough, I'll try to ally with her.

The thought of an ally is appealing, but the whole idea isn't convincing.

"Hi, I'm Fawn," I say, approaching the station, my hand going for one of the knives.

The girl turns around, her curly hair falling off of her shoulder to the side. "I'm Augusta from District Nine."

I smile, gripping the knife in my hand, turning towards one of the dummies. "It's nice to meet you."

"It's my pleasure," she replies, cocking her head to the side. "What makes you come here?"

"Just wanted to practice with something else," I say, shrugging, not really wanting to tell that I made a fool of myself at the archery station. "What about you?"

"Well," she picks up one of the knives, spinning it on her finger. "Back in Nine, these are what I trained with. These are all I trained with, every day and every night."

"Oh?" I ask, my voice shaky. "You trained?"

She lowers her head, her hair falling in front of her face. "You didn't? Everybody trains nowadays."

Lowering my hand, I place the knife back on the table, taking a good look at Augusta. Sure, she could have the body to be a trained tribute, but why didn't she volunteer? Why isn't she apart of the Careers if she trained?

I never would have expected children in District Nine training. It was never plausible to me, but I guess if she says she has, it has to be true. She seems to know what she's doing, so I can't say anything else. In Twelve, even if we were allowed to train, no one would. No one would dare train just to volunteer to go into the Games, risking their own life and their family's hopes.

District Twelve was a lovely District, but they are most certainly not interested in the Games. They were all nice people, too innocent to ever want to volunteer for the Games like those Careers. I love the District entirely, especially the way the winters came early and the summers lasted long. It was so beautiful, so rustic, and frankly, I never wanted to leave.

I miss it more and more every day.

Picking up a different knife, I try to think of a way to keep the conversation going, to learn more about Augusta. She's definitely intriguing, and she hasn't left me yet, so that's a good sign. Plus, she's apparently trained, so he has to know what she's doing. I'd love to her ally with her, but I don't want to be awkward about asking. I want it to come naturally, not forced.

I don't want her to feel the way Aoife made me feel.

I'm still turned around, not looking at Augusta or seeing what she's doing, just slowly and gently swinging at a dummy. I slice it a little, not letting any of the cotton in it come out and I'm not straining myself. I poke the dummy with the knife, just to see how sharp it is, the little whole ripping in the dummy making me think of a real tribute being killed.

"So, do you have any allies?" I ask, expecting an answer.

The only sounds I hear are from the other tributes around the center, from the sound of metal and steel clashing against one another, and the sound of footsteps. I want to repeat myself, but for all I know, she might be thinking about it. I put down the knife again, and I turn around, expecting to see her there.

But, I don't.

It's just me again at this station.

Looking around frantically, I try to find her, hoping that nothing has happened to her or that she isn't with anyone else. After looking around for a minute or two, I find her near the spears station. But, she isn't alone; she's with the two tributes from Four and the girl from District Two. I slump back, a frown forming on my face, knowing that she's going to be recruited by them now.

The girl from Four seems to be doing all the talking, while the boy from Four simply stands back with his arms crossed over his chest and the girl from Two just hovering over the Four girl's shoulder. Cassiopeia, her name is, but I'm not too sure about the other two.

The Four girl finishes up, closing her lips tightly after speaking, and looks Augusta up-and-down. Augusta rolls her neck, places her finger on her chin, and then nods. She nods, gesturing that she'll be a part of that alliance now. I might not be able to hear it, but I know what's going on over there.

It seems that they don't want me either.

If Aoife doesn't want me, the Four girl doesn't want me, and now Augusta doesn't want me, who will?

Who will want me as an ally? All I want is one ally.

I can't go at this alone… I want someone here with me.

I _need _someone here with me.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Some more tributes? What did you think of them? Who stood out?

Personal question? These are always fun to read the answers you guys give.

_If you were in the Hunger Games, what would you want your arena to be?_


	9. Training Day Three

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* * *

**Jaggary Fowl  
District Ten Male, 14 Years Old**

* * *

My parents have always told me that actions speak louder than words.

That if you want something in life, whether materialistic or emotionally, you have to work it. You can't just dwell on it, or speak about it constantly, you have to actually get up and do something. Personally, I do, however, believe that at times, words speak louder than actions.

If you know what you're saying and how to say it, that is.

Then that's a different story.

Just like these two boys – Pika, from Three, and Joseph, from Nine.

I knew they would ally, but I just had to wait it. You can always connect two people together, from the way they look, their age, and their traits. Pika is quiet, Joseph is quiet, but they always stayed near each other indirectly. They never spoke until yesterday, and from the looks of it, the alliance wasn't cemented until today.

And now is my chance.

To ally with them, but not just for protection, it's also to learn something. To have some company for the next few days in the Capitol and in the Games – if they make it that far, that is. I don't expect much from them. I never expect much from anyone, simply because I've seen weak and vulnerable people my whole life.

It's just what I'm used, so how could they be different? Both of those boys are just like everyone else who went to see my parents. They had problems just like my parents' clients, all varying depending on the person. With Pika, though, he has a problem with being bullied.

He was being teased by the District One female, Aoife, and really, I should have done something. But, I've never been one to stick up for someone. I do remember it, though, and when the time comes, I'll do something about it. Essentially, I just wanted to watch how Pika would react.

I wanted to see if he was really a suitable ally. Joseph, on the other hand, was an ally I've wanted since the Reapings. The way he was so emotionless, so stoic. The way he kept himself contained, not lashing out any emotion uncontrollably. He is someone I want to be allies with.

But, Pika beat me to it. I took too long, and now, I have to deal with both of them.

Walking around the edges of the Training Center, I keep my eyes on the two boys, watching their every move and looking at their lips as they speak. They're at the fire-making station, both sitting on the ground trying to get a fire started. I want to wait for the right moment, when they're about to give up with the fire, and then go in. Then, I could show them how to make a fire, so then they'll have to want to ally with me.

I would have helped me, so they would have to help me in return.

Pika looks up Joseph, who is still staring at the sticks in front of him, a contorted expression on his face. Pika smiles a little bit, the sight of a small spark giving the two of them some satisfaction. It soon stops, though, and the two of them lean back on their arms. Now would be the perfect time.

Beginning to walk over towards that station, I take my time, trying to pick up on any conversation I hear as I walk over. I hear something about 'recruits' from the Four girl, the word 'enemy' from the One girl, and the word 'why' coming from the Seven girl. I pass a few others, who simply don't speak and who are focused on what they're doing, like the girl from Five and the boy from Five. The sight of Joseph and Pika about to get up catches my attention, my feet trying to get their quicker.

Approaching them, they both look at me, the sticks already on the ground. I look down at the sticks, and they sit back down, holding them out to me. I grab them, not saying a word, and kneel down.

"Do you know how to do it? I wish I did," Pika says, pushing another stick towards me. "It's not easy."

"I almost got it," Joseph mumbles, his voice much deeper than Pika's.

Lowering my hands on the stick, I place them on top of the log, and begin to rub the two sticks together rapidly and tightly. I do this for a few moments, until there's a spark and then some smoke, the sound of Pika coughing and Joseph mumble something make me look up.

"How'd you do that?" Pika asks, peering down at me.

Even though I want Pika as an ally, I can tell he lacks in survival skills. Assuming that most of District Three would lack in this field, it's understandable, but at least Joseph almost had it. We all weigh each other out, and that is why this alliance will work.

For as long as it can, that is. I don't expect this alliance to last forever. Who would?

"Thank you," Joseph says, a little louder this time. "What is your name?"

"Jaggary," I reply, looking up at him. "Jaggary Fowl."

"It's nice to meet you, Jaggary," Pika inserts, poking the lower part of the stick. "Would you like to join an alliance with Joseph and me?"

"It'd be great for you to join," Joseph adds, his facial expression different than before.

For some reason, he seems to look a little more content. Not so apathetic towards everything; maybe it's because he had the same idea as me. Maybe he had the same idea of allying with me, that is. Glancing at both of their faces, I see Pika smiling and Joseph somewhat smirking, the sight of the two of them making me feel accomplished.

"Of course," I reply. "Is it just you two?"

I know the answer for sure, but I want to see what they say about it. If they hint that they want someone else to join, that this is it, or that they have another ally in this group. It's probably only the three of us, whether they like it or not, but I just want to see how they react.

Joseph nods, standing up from the ground. "Just us three, now."

"Is that okay with you, Jaggary?" Pika asks, his face close to mine. "We can find someone else if you want, I guess."

"No, no," I reply, shaking my head. "The three of us are fine."

Pika stands up next to Joseph, and they exchange a look, and then look back at me. I stand up as well, brushing the pieces of leaves and twigs on my pants. They turn towards the slingshot station, and I take the hint that they want to go there, seeing as no one's there.

It'll take some getting used to, but I can see this working. I can see us all working together well.

I still don't expect much from them, but I won't be completely hopeless. Joseph seems to be the brawns, while Pika seems to be the brains. To complete this alliance, I will be the eyes. I will watch, scour, and find out anything I can.

I'll help in any way that I can, whether with strength or with intelligence. In an alliance, all members have to put forth a talent or something that will benefit the whole alliance.

We'll come together to form one alliance – one that will be a force to be reckoned with.

I just hope that my parents are proud of the things I've done. The tips I've taken from them, the things I've learned from them, and the ways I will abide by that I got from them. They made me the person I am today, and I couldn't have done anything with them this far.

I just hope that it's enough.

But, not just for them, but also for me.

I can't forget that I'm in the Games alone, not with them, so I'm just here for me. I'm just here for my own survival, and whatever I can use to help me out, I'll take advantage of.

I won't go down that easy.

Only the weak and vulnerable ones go down that easy.

And I, Jaggary Fowl, am not weak and vulnerable.

* * *

**Blake Valenzuela  
District Eight Male, 16 Years Old**

* * *

"If you could leave, that'd be great."

Poplin and Alise look up, their poorly tied knots in their hands, some of the wax on the table on them as well. They both turn their heads in unison, clearly hearing what I just said. It wasn't an offer, really. I was telling them what to do.

I just don't want them near me.

Their giggles, their small-talk, their naivety making me hate them more than I already do.

"Shoo," I say, waving my hand, gesturing for them to leave. "You're making my head hurt."

"You remind me of Nora," Alise whispers to Poplin, her voice barely audible. "I don't like him."

"Boo-hoo," I retort, my words lingering. "I don't like you either, Alise. You're annoying and stupid."

"Don't call her that," Poplin chimes in, her eyes narrowed. "You're the stupid one."

Chucking a little, I pause for a moment, letting their words resonate in their own minds. Only if they knew how stupid they sound, how dumb they look in front of me, and then they might keep their mouths shut. It's people like them that make me hate people in general.

The types of people who I just can't be bothered with anymore.

"Oh, come on, 'Lin. You don't mean that," I reply, my voice soft. "Didn't your parents teach you to not call people mean names?"

"You're stupid," she repeats, grabbing Alise's hand. "I'm telling Woof on you, Blake."

"Please, not Woof! Please, anything but him!" I call after them as they begin to walk away, Alise sulking her head on Poplin's shoulder. The image is just hilarious.

A small, clueless blonde, finding some comfort in a larger, clueless brunette. It's just oh-so funny.

Putting my mind back on what is at hand, I grab the knives in front of me, feeling the handle of each one. I roll my eyes in disgust, not finding any knives that fit comfortable in my palm. Some are too rough, too soft, too slippery, and honestly, some of these shouldn't even be knives.

Getting over my pickiness for such a thing, I grab the first knife that somewhat fits in my hand, gripping it tightly. The dummy is positioned in front of me, untouched, with not a single scratch or hole in it. I imagine someone as the dummy, someone Poplin, and for a quick moment, I feel a smile form on my face.

I almost forget that the whole point of these Games are to kill.

That by training, they're only preparing us to put on a better show for the Capitol. They don't really care how well we do here or what we do, they just want us to be able to pull of something more exciting. Something that will appeal to the Capitol more, and in return, terrify the Districts more.

If the Capitol actually cared, they wouldn't have us training at all.

It's not like they care about anything, though. They're only self-centered bigots, only looking out for themselves in this warped country. They're just a bunch of idiots – idiots, but effective idiots. They know what they're doing, and as much as I shouldn't admit it, I respect them for that.

They have everything planned out, from start to finish. They probably have everything in between that all planned out, too. They're effective like that. Despite my critical judgments, they are quite the institution.

I wish I could pull something off in the way the Capitol does.

I'll give myself the benefit of the doubt, though. I'm sure I could be capable of doing something, with the proper training and education and all.

Then, I could go somewhere. But, for now, I'll sit tight in this Training Center. I'll stay here, keep quiet, and just play with these knives for a few more minutes. Besides, there isn't much to do here.

Well, there is, but nothing I'd like to do.

Aiming the knife for the chest of the target, I pull my arm back, bring it forward quickly, and release. The knife soars through the air, and I keep an eye on it, wincing as it lodges itself in the chest of the dummy. I do it once more, this time the knife landing in the neck of the dummy. Looking at the dummy as a whole, I chuckle, seeing how pointless this training is.

I could kill, so why am I even bothering?

Why can't I be doing something else?

Right now, if I accepted, I could have been a part of Coleen's Careers. They asked me towards the end of Training Yesterday, all of them clearly out-of-breath and desperate at that point. I played along, had a laugh, and asked tons of questions. Tons of questions that I didn't really care about, but I just wanted to see them all react.

I wanted to see how desperate they actually were.

And when I tell you they were desperate, I mean it. They were so desperate for me to join them. I don't blame, though. I know what I'm doing; more than most of the tributes, I'll admit.

The best part of it, though, was when I rejected them with a blunt 'no'. I asked my questions, played along, and when it came down to it, I never cared. I realize what the Careers are and what I could have gotten out of it, but why would I?

Why would I put myself through that shit?

Complying with a central leader, following the rest around like a lost puppy, taking orders from someone. That is not how I want to live my life, whether a Career or not. I was never a fan of authority, so there was no way I would ever join Coleen's Careers.

Aoife's, too. I'd reject her as well.

I do, however, realize the threat they pose. They could, in fact, kill me. They could, but although I do know that, I won't let that deter me. The difference is that I don't fear them. They might be able to kill me in the Games, but I won't be scared to fight back.

Fighting back for my own survival is something I plan on doing.

Whether the Careers are ready for it or not, I'll fight back, and perhaps kill one of them. I could kill them, too. I'm strong enough and I'm more than prepared to do so. They must realize it, though, since they asked for me to join them. They know what I'm capable of, so now, they want me.

That's funny, too.

I've been told that if I'm always complaining or angry, people won't want me.

Clearly, Coleen did. Aoife might too.

But, what if I don't want people?

What if I don't _need _people?

* * *

**Cassiopeia Bryony  
District Two Female, 17 Years Old**

* * *

_I had to do it._

_The words, the beatings, the way they treated me. Like a barbaric animal, no better than a piece of trash getting kicked across the street. _

_They made me do it._

_All three of them._

So, I did. I did the unthinkable, the thing that no one would ever expect from someone my age. The action that got me sent away, that stripped me of my dignity and my old life, and the action that changed my life forever. But, I don't regret a thing. They deserved every single shriek emitted and pain they received.

At times, I can still see their beady eyes, all looking down at me as I watched in awe, a smile on my face. The way they grabbed their throats, kicked out, and threw the bowls down on the ground. I can still hear the sounds of the gurgling poison in their throat, all because of me.

The poison that killed them… the poison they deserved.

The poison that drove me to volunteer. To show the District that I'm not just the girl who killed her family with poison, but that I'm something more than that. Much, much more than that. And, here I am, not yet fulfilling my long-term goal. Soon enough, though, and they'll see.

They'll all see.

Even my allies – Coleen, Orson, and Augusta.

They don't know a thing about me, yet they trust me enough to be an ally. It's a shame, though, because I would betray them in a second. I wouldn't think twice before stabbing them in the back literally, watching with a smile on their face as they try to fight back. As they scramble, attempting to fight for themselves, but I would know it'd be in vain.

With a knife, I can do anything.

I can do it all.

I can even do it to our oh-so talented competition this year. Aoife, Fabian, Helios, and Avis – all of them.

With one swift flick of my hand, I'd slit their throat, or with one quick jab, I'd puncture their stomachs. I'll end each of their lives, all in varied ways. All with a different method of execution, one that I come up with myself. A death for all four of them, whether they are expecting it or not.

I'll kill them – mark my word.

"Pay attention, Cassia," Coleen calls over, my head reactively turning towards her. "We have allies to discuss."

"Another victim for me to pick on?" I taunt, raising my finger and waving it in circles. "How about the girl from Seven? Or the girl from Eight? They're… _cute_."

"Or not," Coleen quips, turning towards the rest of the group. "Any ideas? I was thinking the boy from Seven, Hollis."

"Either him or we can try the boy from Eight," Orson adds, his eyes wandering. "Again."

"The first time didn't work out so well," Coleen responds, nodding. "Wouldn't want to flare up any hostilities."

"What about the girl from Twelve?" Augusta offers. "I spoke to her yesterday and she was willing to join."

"She'd be last resort," I reply, being completely honest. "Only if we were desperate. What about you, Cassia?"

Shrugging, I spin on my heels, glancing over all of the tributes. I spot the girl from Five, the boy from Nine, the boy from Eleven, and then the girl from Three. The way her blonde hair cascades down her back makes my stomach churn, the way she keeps her hands to the side making me feel even worse. She's like a walking mannequin, one that I can tear apart, watching the cotton fall out of it, drifting peacefully to the ground.

She leans forward, a smile appearing on her face for a quick moment, and then retracts. She keeps her arms tight to her side, her head cocked downwards, and her shoulders relaxed.

And then I realize who she's with.

She's surrounded by Aoife and Helios, their mouth all moving rapidly. Aoife has her head cocked upwards per usual, Helios has his usual disgusted face on, and this girl. Well, I just can't read her expression. She doesn't seem to be too dissatisfied with the offer, but whenever one of them looks, her eyes are still pinned on Helios only.

Seems like someone's got a little crush.

"What's going on?" Coleen asks, and I point my finger over towards the circle at the opposite side of the Training Center.

"Ooh," I coo, my hands tingling. "Another one."

Turning back around, I see that Coleen has already stepped away, leaving only Orson, Augusta, and me. I look them all up-and-down, eyeing them attentively. They're both fidgety, unsure of what to do under my glare, and I grimace.

"We should really become comfortable around one another," I say, tilting my head. "We'll be together for a while."

The two of them keep quiet for a while, completely ignoring what I'm saying. They can hear me, but for some reason, they just don't want to answer. Good for them, though; a little distrust going on. I don't blame them, really. I wouldn't trust me… not after the things I've done.

Coleen has approached the boy from Seven, Hollis, and they've already engaged in some conversation. It's probably going to be the same speech she gave Augusta, where she tells him how much potential he has, how well he can do with us, and why he should join us. It's mundane.

She didn't have to do that for me, though. I didn't need her to.

I already knew what the advantages of joining this Pack would be.

All of them will just be used as bait. Bait to lure in the prey, setting them up for the kill. And, if need be, they'll die for me. They'll perish under my enemies, taking the hits and wounds that I might have received. They'll be my protection through the Games, the ones who will only further my chances.

It's not like I need any of them. I've learned that relying on someone only deteriorates you on the inside. It ruins you, shrivels and twists your insides, giving you a burning sensation. Just like that poison did for my family.

Just like I'll do for my allies. They'll be dependent on me, and in return, they'll get nothing from me. Not even a slight hint that I'll protect them under any circumstances or that I might actually care for them.

This is the Hunger Games, after all. Twenty-three die, one comes out. That's how it goes.

You can't form connections, bonds, or relationships with anyone. They usually end the same way with one, or both, dying. Both of those beloved tributes dying, the bonds and memories they made fading away. All of the things they clung onto, the hope that they cherished, the feelings that they felt with one another, all gone.

Not one memory left.

The people who are aware and trained to cope with this are cut-out for the Games. Like me, for example. Whether my allies are or not, I just don't know. But, that's not my problem. Nothing they do is any of my problem, except when they are protecting me. Then, it is of my concern.

If they try to get to know me, to make a memory with me, or to become my friend, I'll reject them. I'll close myself off, making myself impermeable. Not that anyone has in a while; not since the incident. I've been treated differently for a while now.

I'm even treated differently by my allies. Coleen is cautious with me, always shutting her mouth when I go against her. Orson just keeps to himself, with his arms crossed over his chest. Augusta, though; she's something else. She likes to tell me about how wonderful her life was and how much she did, but what she doesn't realize is that I don't care.

I don't care about anything regarding them at all.

That's why they don't know who I am.

Only one person ever did, and that was Peterian. He was different and he knows me better than anyone else does.

He hasn't hurt me in the ways everyone else has. He hasn't laid a finger on me, said something about me, or mocked me actively. He understands me, and I understand him back. Ever since those people had hurt me, though, I changed. I matured, trained myself mentally and physically, and I would never be the same.

From that point on, I couldn't let it happen again. I couldn't ever be hurt again, not in the ways I used to be. And now, at this point in my life, barely anything affects me. But, even more importantly, I can't be hurt.

_Nothing_ can hurt me anymore.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

This was the shortest Training Chapter, but yeah. Not that I'm lazy or anything, I just didn't have as much to do with these tributes and I didn't expect much more to happen during this Day.

Who stood out, yeah?

Personal question, uhuh.

_Who was your favorite character in The Hunger Games (first book)? Catching Fire? Mockingjay? _


	10. Gamemaker Sessions

w w w. riotofcolorhg. blogspot. c o m

w w w. halloffamethg. blogspot. c o m

* * *

**Fabian Verdite  
District One Male, 18 Years Old**

* * *

"Aoife Cosette."

Aoife stands up quickly at the mention of her name, giving me a quick glance over her shoulder. I smile at her, lowering my head, watching her step through the sliding doors. The doors close behind her, the long hallway we're all in going quiet, except for the sound of someone tapping their foot.

Truthfully, I hope Aoife does well. If she doesn't, then that'll reflect our whole group. If she gets an eight, the group will look weak by having a weak leader, but if she gets an eleven, we'll look overpowered. It has to all balance out, with our whole alliance getting good scores – ranging from at least eight to ten. If they're too low, I would boot them, and if they're too high, I'd boot them too.

The alliance has to be perfect with every aspect, especially training scores.

If I were in charge of this alliance – me, Aoife, Helios, Bishop, and Avis – I wouldn't want to be leader, so I can't really say much about Aoife. She knows what she can do, probably already predicting her own score. I assume she'll get around a ten, simply because she's strong and a leader.

Me? I'll give myself a nine.

Helios I'd give an eight, Bishop I'd give an eight, and Avis I'd give a nine. I don't expect much from any of them, except for Avis, so at least an eight should do to continue being a part of this alliance. If not, well, I'll discuss about booting them.

Now that there's a rivalry going on, we can't be weak. We have to have all-around good allies.

The sliding metal doors open again, Aoife strutting through them proudly. She sashays her shoulder, her hands swinging back and forth as she walks. I open my mouth, attempting to say something, but she walks right past me, heading for the doors on the opposite side.

"Fabian Verdite."

The robotic voice says my name, and I stand up, fixing the sleeves on my training suit. Pryce told me that appearance matters just as much as skills, and appearance is something I'm good at. I'm good at skills, too, but appearance is one of my many talents.

Walking forward, I look back at all of the tributes, seeing Helios and Bishop looking at me. They're sitting next to each other, which I don't find surprising. They've always been closer to each other than the rest of the group.

Turning my head back around, I continue through the metal doors, the sound of them closing behind me calming me. Now, I don't have anyone else looking at me, and from here until the Training Center where the Gamemakers are, I can think.

I keep my head looking forward, my fists open freely and held tightly to my side. Turning the corner, the expansive room of the Training Center welcomes me. On the balcony, there are all of the Gamemakers, including the Head one, and I walk towards them. I stand in front of them, bow a little, and introduce myself.

"Fabian Verdite from District One," I state, putting my hands behind my back. "At your service."

The Head Gamemaker waves her hand, dismissing me in such a blunt way. I grimace at gesture, mentally scolding myself because I know I shouldn't care about that. She could at least show some concern or care for me.

I go right to the swords station, grabbing the first falchion that catches my eye. I hold it in my hand, dropping it to my side for a moment, trying to get used to the weight of it quickly. The swords back in District One were always lighter than these, but still, I can wield one.

Swords are just another one of my many talents.

There are three dummies in front of me, all in pristine and untouched condition. I approach them, keeping myself steady and focused. Raising the sword, I prepare to take them all out in the matter of seconds, and count in my head until I feel ready.

_This is it._

All at once, I unleash my strength, swiping the sword back and forth at the dummies. I start with the first, stab it, and then spin around and slice the neck of the second. From afar, I plunge the blade into the third dummy's stomach, and then spin back around, jabbing the handle of the sword into the face of the first dummy.

Continuing to spin around and give damage differently to each dummy, I basically ignore the Gamemaker's as they tell me my time is up. They finally ring a bell, finally catching my attention. They're all looking down at me now, and I place the sword back on the rack, bowing at them once more.

"Thank you for your time," I state, nodding my head.

Walking out of the Training Center, I don't look back, knowing they probably have a camera on me or something. If I look back, it'll make me look weak, and after that performance, I can't look weak.

Weakness is simply that – a weakness.

Something I just can't have anymore.

The doors automatically open in front of me, and I step through, seeing everyone's eyes on me. I smile at them, and go towards the edge of the hallway, gliding my finger along the wall.

"Cassiopeia Bryony."

I hear the sounds of footsteps going towards the doors, then the doors opening and closing behind them. It goes back to being silent, and I sit down at the edge of the hallway, my head rested against the wall. It takes a few minutes of me sitting in silence before Cassiopeia comes back out, her hair even messier than usual and with a tear in her suit.

I don't even want to know.

"Helios Villard."

He stands up, his eyes on lingering on Bishop, and then he departs from her. I look back at Bishop, who's playing with her hands incessantly and all fidgety. Seriously, if I knew the two of them would turn out like this, I wouldn't have allowed Bishop to join the alliance.

She's just a distraction for Helios; and Helios is the important ally.

Bishop was just used to balance out the numbers. She was never meant to be taken seriously.

A few moments later, after I keep watching Bishop, the doors slide back open, Helios emerging from behind them. He sits back down next to Helios, says something to her, and then Bishop stands up because she's next.

"Bishop Grande."

Bishop walks through the doors, playing with strands of her hair. My eyes go to Helios, who's sitting there looking down at the ground. I contemplate whether or not to go sit next to him, but I decide against it, knowing that Bishop will come back soon. For some reason, I don't think Bishop is a fan of me.

I'm not sure why; I really don't do anything.

As Bishop comes back into the room, she gestures for Helios to come with her, and the two of them get up to leave. They begin to walk towards me, since I'm right near the door, and they whisper something to each other as they're about to pass me.

"Hi, guys," I say quietly. "How are the two of you?"

"I'm fine, thank you," Helios replies, holding the door open for Bishop.

"I'm great," Bishop says, smiling. "I'll see you later, Fabian. We just want to get some fresh air."

I bid them good-bye with a nod, and I look back at the doors, apparently already missing Bishop's District partner go in. He's coming out just as Bishop and Helios leaves, and he sits back down, waving at the boy from Nine. The boy from Nine has no response, just sitting there with a emotionless look on his face.

"Coleen Morisette."

I shift in my seat as she stands up, only imagining what would happen if Aoife was still here. She'd probably try to trip her, or something along the lines. Aoife always has to have the last word, especially with Coleen.

At first, Coleen didn't bother me, but I can't think that way anymore. Now, I'm in the alliance that is basically a rival to hers. Even if I did like, she'd still kill me now. Mostly because I'm Aoife's District partner, but probably also because I'm in her alliance.

My thoughts about Coleen don't matter anymore; once we're in that arena, she'll go in for the kill. It won't matter to her, so it can't matter to me.

I reflect on the time that we spent in the Training Center, with Aoife antagonizing Coleen just to get mad at her back. Or when Aoife knocked over the table Coleen was at 'by accidentally,' or the time when Coleen made her hatred for Aoife clear when she declared the Career Pack will split this year.

It's never easy for me, it seems.

"Orson Nautica."

Coleen is already out of her Private Session, and she passes her District partner, who is already near the doors. They don't exchange any looks or any comments, and Orson steps through, the doors closing behind him.

The dynamics between the allies of Coleen's Pack are completely different than Aoife's.

But, that doesn't answer the questions. Who's Pack will make the first kill? Who's Pack will be victorious?

Or the most important one.

Will I die as just part of this alliance to outshine the other?

Will my death mean something?

* * *

**Fausten Fraser  
District Six Male, 18 Years Old**

* * *

"Alecto Marcial."

Posturing myself, I straighten my back and sit up. I fold my hands over my lap, and once Alecto passes, I smirk and nod my head. Father said that whenever you want to greet someone, you have to play the part. Alecto passes me, glancing at me once, and then I look down the hallway.

Alecto's an interesting one. I don't know her personally, nor do I ever intend to, but I feel that I should respect her as a person because she's Devan's District partner. Her and Devan rarely talk, and from what I hear, she's quiet one. Devan doesn't speak much either, but from what I can see, she's more modest and distant.

Devan's not much better in this sense, but at least he has me as an ally.

And that's something he won't regret.

After a few more minutes pass of me staring forward, shooting a glance at any noise I hear, the doors open back up. Alecto walks through them, pausing at her seat next to Devan and Rionach for a moment, and shakes her head. She continues to walk to the door at the end of the hallway, and I see Devan staring at her.

"Don't get distracted," I advise, placing my hand on his shoulder. "Good luck in there, Devan."

"Devan Halloway."

Devan stands up, my hand sliding off of his shoulder. I place it back on my lap, beginning to play with my fingers as I watch him step through the doors. They close behind him, and I smirk, but I don't know why.

Having him as an ally just intrigues me.

That's why I'm smirking.

Father always told me that if someone is closed-off and quiet, they are hiding something. That there is always some ulterior motive that is being plotted out. I do intend on figuring out more about Devan, and I'll go to any measure to learn more about him. He's interesting, but not in the same was Alecto.

If I wanted Alecto as an ally, I would have allied with her.

Devan just has something else that I can't quite put my finger on yet.

"Rionach Hartley."

Without me realizing it, Devan is already out of his Private Session, and next up is Rionach. Devan comes over towards me, a few droplets of sweat forming on the top of his forehead, and he sits back down, leaning his head on his hands.

"Welcome back," I say, nodding. "How'd it go?"

I wait a few seconds, and once I realize that Devan doesn't plan on responding, I go back to my thoughts. Father always told me to attempt to start a conversation, but if someone really doesn't show any interest, you aren't supposed to force yourself on them. That only leads to hostilities and indifference.

And I want to keep Devan as an ally for as long as I can.

Standing up, I know that my name will be called soon, and I adjust the cuffs on my training suit. I make sure that it looks presentable, especially for the Gamemakers, but also for the other tributes. Father always told me to set an example for everyone else; to look your best and act your best.

"Fausten Fraser."

Passing Rionach on the way, I smile, expecting nothing from her in return. I've learned her ways already; quiet, impersonal, and doesn't show any interest in me. But, as Father always said, you should be nice to the quiet ones. They might be planning something too, and you don't want to be on their hit-list.

Not that Rionach could ever kill me, but she might have something planned.

Stepping through the doors, I wait for them to close behind before walking forward. Once they close, I take my first step, exhaling calmly. I tilt my head upwards, keep my arms to my side, and walk with good posture. Turning the corner, the Gamemakers come into view, and once I see them, I put a smile on my face.

It's always about the appearance; especially with business deals, and in a way, this is a business deal.

"I am Fausten Fraser," I state, my voice sounding serious. "I am ready to start my Private Session."

The Head Gamemaker raises an eyebrow, waving her hand at me. I look over all of the Gamemakers, and once I see all of their eyes perched on me, I feel a sense of pride. A sense of pride that might help me that good score that would impress Father.

Going right for the station where the daggers are, I continue to walk with proper posture and a prideful stance. I can't let my appearance slip up now, especially when they're all looking. I grab the first dagger at the station, and after I inspect it, I notice that there are finger prints on it.

Well, that won't do.

Grabbing another dagger, I inspect it again, trying to see if there are any finger prints. Luckily, there are none, and as I turn around, I see the dummies all lined up behind me.

Gripping the dagger in my hand, I roll my neck, cracking it. Giving the Gamemakers one last glance, I smile at them, and then go right into the action. I stab the first dummy in the shoulder, pry it out, and then smash the handle of it into its head. I step back, the dagger still positioned in front of me, and then attack the second one. With this one, I just plunge the dagger into its stomach, ripping it out forcefully. For the third dummy, I just stab the dummy in the head, leaving the dagger in it.

I step back, bow again, and then nod my head.

Walking back towards the exit, I don't turn around, knowing that would make me look hesitant and regretful. With the same stance and posture, I exit the Training Center, and once I hit the hallway, I loosen up a little bit.

I really don't know what to think at this point.

Father never taught me anything about weapons.

The doors open in front of me, and I walk past the tributes, heading right for the same spot I was sitting at before. Devan's still there, and I sit next to him, both of us sitting in silence.

"Alise Cambrie."

The small girl from Seven stands up, prancing towards the doors quickly. She turns around, waves at the girl from Eight who does wave back, and goes through the doors.

It's tribute like her that make me feel… They make me feel good.

I'm used to those kind of people – childish, naïve, and frankly, stupid. Father always told me that I was better than those types of people, but how could I blame him?

It's clear that I am.

I am better than most.

"Hollis Oleander."

The boy from Seven passes the girl, looking down at her as they pass each other. He walks through the doors, and I smile, knowing that the boy is a Career. Not a true Career at heart; he's just one of those desperate recruits.

I know all about the Careers this year. I didn't waste any time during Training.

It's the District One girl versus the District Four girl; Aoife and Coleen, respectively. Both strong-headed females who desire power, followers, and all they want is a sense of recognition. I admire them, in a way, but at the same time, I pity them.

They'll lead to their own downfall.

"Poplin Silvers."

The small girl has a small interaction with Alise, exchanging a smile and some words. I smile at the sight of the two of them, knowing that they are just two girls who will perish inevitably. They're just two girls that the Capitol thrives off of.

Small, naïve, and fodder for the Games.

Those are exactly the types of people the Capitol wants to see.

After watching Alise playing with her fingers and hair for a few more minutes, my eyes wander at the other tributes, only seeing a few of them left. Most of the Careers are all gone, only leaving whatever middle-District tributes wanted to stay and all of the lower-District tributes.

"Blake Valenzuela."

At the sound of his name, I smile, turning my head to look at him. He passes me, looks down at me, and grimaces. As he passes Poplin and Alise, he whispers something to them, and then laughs at himself.

He's almost as bad as the Careers.

Just as arrogant, deluded, and self-destructive. He'll be his own downfall too.

But, I won't. I'm better than that.

Father taught me how to regulate myself and how to control myself.

With Father's advice, I can do anything.

Father can do no wrong.

* * *

**Astrid Pallon  
District Ten Female, 15 Years Old**

* * *

"Augusta Daveigh."

Peering down the hallway, I see the District Nine girl, Augusta, stand up, immediately going right for the doors. As she passes where the tributes from Two and Four were sitting, she smiles, and continues to walk. I almost forgot that this year, the Careers resorted to recruiting outer-District tribute; Augusta being one of them.

Although she's a Career, I don't hold that against her. I don't think she's evil, wicked, or bloodthirsty, like most people would for wanting to join the Careers. She was probably being impulsive, and under the certain circumstances, just accepted because she didn't want to become a target for them.

Besides, being a Career would have perks; supplies, allies, and sponsors.

I could never do it, though.

That'd be too much to handle.

The doors slide back open, and Augusta emerges them, head right towards the door at the end. She walks past everyone else, and as she passes me, she notices me looking at her. She smirks, winking with her right eye.

"Joseph Echemik."

Gulping, I begin to prepare myself to go into my own Private Session. I watch the boy walk through the doors, his hands held tight to his side. I wonder what he'll do in there, since from the looks of it, I'm not too sure what he can even do.

Everyone's not what they seem, though. So, I can't judge.

Concentrating on myself, I rattle a bunch of ideas off to myself, trying to come up with an idea that would be best for me. I could either play around with a knife, shoot a slingshot, or do some running courses; there's just so many things to do, with only a limited time. I have to plan it out carefully, and not do whatever comes to mind first.

It's only a training score after all, but still, I want to do well. They might not be the most important thing, but to me, they'd give that extra boost I need. Plus, you can get sponsors from them, and that's something I could use in the Games.

Granted I survive that long to get sponsors, that is.

How hard could they be, anyway?

Wolfram got a five and Asher got a five, and they both still won.

"Astrid Pallon."

Standing up, I pause for a moment, letting Joseph sit back down. I walk past him, past everyone else, and then go through the doors. After the doors close, I begin to recollect myself, breathing slowly and calmly. I can't get nervous now; now is not the time.

I have to keep a level-headed mind right now, and if I don't, there goes my chance at getting any good score.

I never ask for much, so why can't I just have this one thing? A good score?

Turning the corner, I enter the Training Center, the expansive size taking me by surprise. It's much larger than the Training Center we were all in, and there's much more variety of weapons, dummies, and stations. I walk forward, bowing a little as I approach them, and then introduce myself.

"Astrid," I say, my voice a little shaky. "Astrid Pallon."

They wave at me, gesturing for me to begin. I know that the time is limited, so I can't waste any more time. From the corner of my eye, I see the knives station, with a rack of daggers at it. At Training, I spent most of my time working with a dagger, so that's what I'm going to do.

It's worth a shot.

As I approach the station, I grab the first dagger I see, not really knowing the difference between any of them. The dagger is light and I can grip it easy, so this is the one I'll use. Turning around to the dummies, I see that they're all spread out a little, and I figure I can use that to my advantage too.

Looking back at the Gamemakers one more time, I gulp, calming myself down.

I begin to slash at the dummies softly, only making little marks in them, and as I see my attempts aren't working, I put a little more force. I tear apart the first dummy, and jump to the side to the second one, doing the same thing again. I slash at it gently first, gradually adding more force and push into it. As I finish up with the second one, I move to the third one, my body aching from all this sudden movement and use of energy.

I pant, sluggishly slicing at the third dummy. I still manage to make some cuts, but I probably already messed up too much. I just didn't notice how much energy I'd use by doing any of this, but now I do. Shrugging, I continue to pant, putting the knife down back on the rack.

Walking out of the Training Center, I don't look back, not really wanting to see their faces. I know I didn't do too well, but at least I did something. I can somewhat use a dagger, but whether or I'd actually be able to kill with it is questionable. Self-defense is one thing, but the idea of using it to kill someone is another.

That's just a question for a later time.

My foot-steps become heavy as I tread down the hallway, just wanting to leave this place altogether. As the doors slide open in front of me, I don't wait for them to open all the way, and slip through them. I see the door at the end of the hallway, but I stop myself, looking back at my seat.

I might as well just sit here; I have nothing else to do.

"Jaggary Fowl."

As I sit down next to him, he stands up, going off to his Private Session. I look after him, a smile on my face ready for him to turn around, but nothing happens, and I just sit back down. Jaggary is… I don't know. I always figure that most District pair has some secret relationship, where they care for each other and are friends beneath it all.

Apparently, I was wrong. Jaggary barely talks to me, and whenever I try to, he mumbles something and leaves. Personally, I don't have much of an opinion on him, but I wish I did. I wish I knew more about him, I really do.

Maybe something will change soon. I don't want to be completely negative on this whole situation.

Leaning my head back against the wall behind me, I close my eyes, still listening to the names that are being called up.

"Averil Disoto."

My mind drifts back to the first days of the Capitol, where we all were being prepped by the stylists and got ready for the Chariot Rides. That was probably one of my favorite moments here; the outfits were wonderful to wear, and I actually got see some of the Capitol. I've only ever heard stories about it, but now, I've actually witnessed it.

I just wish I can go back home and tell people all of this.

I won't push my luck, though. Anything can happen, whether I like it or not.

"Mauer Allister."

I remember the first time I stepped into my District floor. It was all pristine, with no cracks, dirt anywhere, or any bugs. It was all beautiful, with the colors white and silver everywhere. It was like a dream, none of it looking real. It was all too nice to be real, and once I walked around, it was even more of a shock to me.

My bedroom was my favorite thing. It was huge, with a bed the size of my bedroom back in District Ten, and my favorite part was this wall-device. You could pick any environment scene you wanted, and it would pop up in front of you, looking completely real. I always played with a farm-type scene, where there was a barn and rows of crops.

It almost felt like home.

"Fawn Brett."

The food is another great thing, too. It tastes like nothing I've ever seen or heard of before. Back in District Ten, we just ate whatever we could manage to find or make without many ingredients. District Ten's food was simple and even though it was bad, I got used to it. But, the food in the Capitol was amazing; the smells, the sights, the tastes. They really do treat us well here, even though it doesn't feel right.

They're only prepping us to fight for our lives in the arena.

They don't actually care about us.

"Avis Lowery."

The Capitol never cared for District Ten, either. So, it's not different. We do what they want, and in return, they treat us like garbage. At least, in the Capitol as a tribute, you get something out of it. They give us food, a nice place to stay, and basically anything else they want.

Only if the Capitol treated the Districts like that.

Maybe people would be happy.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Any predictions on Training Scores? Who will score high, who will score low?

Or any general comments; I like to read it all.

I'm running out of things to say in Author's Note, mostly because I won't have much to say until the Games. I'm enjoying writing this story so far, especially because of the diverse bunch of tributes I've received.

Personal question:

_If you were in the Hunger Games, what training score do you think you'd receive?_


	11. Training Scores

w w w. riotofcolorhg. blogspot. c o m

w w w. halloffamethg. blogspot. c o m

* * *

**Pika Charging  
District Three Male, 13 Years Old**

* * *

"Let's get this show on the road!"

Behind Cicero, the interviewer, and Camilla, the Games Announcer, a picture of the District One male pops up. His toothy smile makes me look away for a moment, and seeing Bishop next to me makes me feel better. Training Scores don't mean much, anyway. That's what Jericho said.

It's only a number – just a number.

"From District One: Fabian Verdite – with a score of nine."

Bishop smiles, and I smile for her too. That's her ally now, so she must want him to do well. If her allies do well, that makes Bishop look good, and Bishop told me that she needs to look good to be in that alliance with them.

It is the Careers, after all. I know all about the Careers.

Fabian's picture fades away, begin replaced by Aoife's. I blink rapidly at the image of her, remembering the way she laughed and poked fun at me in the Training Center. I was told just to ignore it by Joseph, but I couldn't. She acted just like Nora, but she's much ruder and blunter about it. At least Nora says it when you're not looking; Aoife is just straightforward about it.

"Aoife Cosette – with a score of nine."

Another nine for another one of Bishop's allies. I smile for her again, but at the image of Aoife being in front of her, she doesn't look as happy. For some reason, I bet they don't get along too well; probably because I'm her District partner. I hope Bishop sticks up for me, though. She's nice like that.

"That's quite the act to follow," Nora snorts, clapping her hands behind us. "Bishop, I bet you got a twelve!"

"Not now, Nora," Jericho cuts in, and Nora mumbles something back, but I can't hear it.

Next, the image of the District Two male comes up on the screen. Bishop told me all about him.

"From District Two: Helios Villard – with a score eight."

A golden eight appears underneath his picture, and I glance at Bishop, who's smiling much wider this time. She hasn't said much, or even looked at me. She's probably really happy for Helios right now, mostly because they're friends and all. Bishop told me that Helios is her favorite ally out of them all, but I don't know why.

It's none of my business, though. All I know is that I like Helios because he's nice to Bishop. We might not be allies, but it means something to me; knowing that Bishop will have someone in the arena, just like me.

Bishop shifts in her seat as the District Two girl's face appears on the screen, her frizzy hair and bulging eyes frightening me a little too. I still don't think she's all there in the mind, just like Bishop said she wasn't.

"Cassiopeia Bryony – with a score of eleven."

There's a chuckle from Nora, followed by a mumble from Jericho. My stylist gasps a little, who then continues to chat with my stylist team about her score. Looking at Bishop, her eyes are glued on the screen, her mouth open wide.

"What's wrong?" I whisper, poking Bishop in the shoulder.

"Eleven…," she mumbles, widening her eyes. "An eleven?"

I know that the scores only range from one to twelve, but I really don't know what they mean. Ever since Jericho told me that they're just a number, I never cared for what score other people or what I would get, since they're just numbers after all. It's just a number that means nothing.

But, why is an eleven so surprising, then?

As Cassiopeia's face disappears on the screen, it's replaced by mine, my messy hair and crooked smile making me laugh. There I am, about to get my score that I don't even know much about.

"From District Three: Pika Charging – with a score of two."

Jericho is at my side now, and he looks down at me, a smile on his face. Before I can look at Bishop, I hear someone laugh from behind me, and just from the sound I know it's Nora. There she goes again, always laughing at everything that concerns me. I still don't understand why she does that.

"Good job," Bishop whispers to me, her head turned away from Nora. "Don't listen to her."

"Thanks," I reply, feeling Jericho place his hand on my shoulder.

After my picture fades away, Bishop's face pops up on the screen, the image of her making me feel good. I bet Helios is happy to see her on the screen too.

"Bishop Grande – with a score of five."

Before anyone can do anything, Nora squeals, clapping her hands some more. Jericho shoots a look at Nora, and I turn around, seeing Nora hovering over Bishop.

"Well, that isn't a twelve, is it? You're just another failure from District Three," she utters, holding out her words.

I hold out my hand for Bishop to high-five, and she presses her hand against mine, both of us taking it away after. We look at each other for a few more moments, with Jericho behind me and Nora behind Bishop.

A five is good, I think. At least, she had a higher score than me, but once again, it doesn't mean anything.

"From District Four: Orson Nautica – with a score of eight."

The District Four male's face is on the screen now, his tanned skin being completely opposite of Bishop's pale skin before. An eight shows up underneath his picture, the eight turning back and forth.

That's not Bishop's ally, even though it should. Careers are usually from Districts One, Two, and Four, never Three or any other one. But, something went wrong this year, Bishop said.

Orson isn't Bishop's friend, so he isn't mine, either.

Orson's face disappears on the screen, followed by the District Four female. Whoever this girl is, she isn't Bishop's friend either.

"Coleen Morisette – with a score of ten."

"And you call your little group a Career Pack?" Nora sneers, turning away from Bishop. "Why didn't you just join her alliance?"

Bishop ignores her, turns towards me, and doesn't say anything. I look back at her, both of us not looking at the television anymore. For a quick moment, I wish I was allies with her.

I wish I was allies with Helios, too. Just not with Aoife.

Even though Aoife had a higher training score than Helios and Bishop, it still doesn't matter. A training score is only a number, one that won't show how strong you are or how smart you are.

And now thinking about, Jericho was completely right about it.

It means nothing.

No one can be defined by just their training score.

* * *

**Rionach Hartley  
District Six Female, 16 Years Old**

* * *

"From District Five: Devan Halloway – with a score of five."

Slightly turning my head, I glace at Fausten, his eyelids blinking rapidly as his ally's score flashes on the score. I look back at the screen, and then at him, only wondering what is going through his mind right now. He doesn't seem happy, sad, or anything else.

He seems like he doesn't care at all.

Quite the alliance, isn't it?

One member completely shut-off from the world, with the other being indifferent. They're both similar in a way, and personally, that's what the flaw in that alliance is. They don't weigh each other out, and they're too similar to accomplish anything. Their flaws are probably similar too, and we all know where that will lead to.

Starts with a 'd', ends with an 'h'.

"Alecto Marcial – with a score of five."

Rolling my eyes, I lean my head back, catching Flux looking at me. Clearly, he's still disappointed that I didn't ally with this girl. Alecto, is her name, but it doesn't matter to me. Fausten's name only matters because he's my District partner and Devan's only matters because he's Fausten's ally.

I've never actually spoken to her; I've only watched her from afar. I did think about the alliance that Flux proposed, and at first, I was skeptical. Flux talked about it with Brites, even though he wouldn't get much from that freak. Melina would have probably done more in this type of situation. Regardless, as Training came to a close, I rejected the offer altogether.

Allying with a girl that I've never met before? It sounds stupid. She could just be in it for her own benefit. She could have easily backstabbed me, and then left me there dying. It's what I expected in people nowadays; to backstab you, to use you, and to take advantage of you.

So, just to make sure, I'll continue to call her the girl from Five.

Why would Alecto matter now, anyway? Why would she deserve to be called by her name? She's not an ally, nor an acquaintance.

I prefer it that way. Having an ally would just lead to disappointment.

Just not everyone sees it the same way I do.

"From District Six: Fausten Fraser – with a score of five."

Devan and him getting the same score only justifies my point more. They're similar – too similar to be an alliance that will go far in the Games. If they both had the same score, it's probable that they did the same things in the Private Sessions.

Why would you want an alliance that is one-sided?

"Aren't you impressive?" I sneer, my voice in a whispering tone.

"Thank you," Fausten replies, placing his hands on his lap.

Rolling my eyes, I look back at the screen, and as Fausten's picture fades away, it is replaced by mine. I don't know what my score will be, but I do know one thing; that picture is just awful. My hair is parted weirdly, it looks like I have a knife in my stomach with a smile like that, and I look paler than normal.

"Rionach Hartley – with a score of four."

That's it?

Just a four?

I know I didn't do much during my Private Session, but I would have given myself at least a five; maybe even a six. But a four, no… that won't do.

"A four? Really?"

"Envy is a sickness," Fausten adds, his voice in that same obnoxious tone he always has with me.

While his head is turn, I mock him, moving my mouth and wording the words he just said. I roll my eyes once more, knowing that I shouldn't be bothered by him. He'll be dead soon, and I won't be.

He'll die, so why should I care about him?

"From District Seven: Hollis Oleander – with a score of six."

"Congratulations!" I jeer, throwing my fist in the air. "That was completely unexpected!"

"I expected it from early on," Fausten interjects, and I lower my fist, prepared to punch him right in the jaw.

Sitting back in my seat, I exhale slowly, trying to calm myself down. If he keeps adding his unnecessary and pretentious comments, I might be the one that will kill him. I could probably cover it up, too, and blame Flux.

He has no idea what's going on, anyway, so he's the perfect victim to blame.

"Alise Cambrie – with a score of one."

Without anything sarcastic to say, I let out a short laugh. The one is shown underneath her picture, and now thinking about, I would rather have a one than a four.

Is it too late to change it?

"Did you expect that, Fausten?" I say, sitting on my hands.

"Yes."

"Of course you did."

"From District Eight: Blake Valenzuela – with a score of six."

"How about that one, Fausten? Did you expect that?" I shove my face towards him, making a silly face.

"Yes."

"Are you a psychic of some sort, then? Is that what Father taught you?"

Fausten doesn't reply to me now, and I am a little offended by that. Although he does make me mad, I enjoy his comments; they give me the fuel I need to make fun of him. He's generally annoying, but once he speaks, he gets even more annoying.

He's the sickness, not envy.

"Poplin Silvers – with a score of two."

"Hm," I say, putting my finger on my chin. "I… I'm getting a vision…"

"Yes, Rionach?" Fausten asks, tilting his head slightly.

Placing my hand on my chest, I get all dramatic, throwing my head back on the couch. "I… I see something in your future."

Fausten edges closer, genuinely being interested in what I'm doing here. Good, at least I have some leverage over him. It would have been funny to ally with him; I would have preferred it over that girl from Five, Alecto. She's useless, but Fausten could at least provide comic relief for me.

"Poplin… You…"

"What about Poplin?" Fausten asks. "What do you see?"

"I see her… standing over your body, knife in hand…," I whisper, making my breaths short and sporadic. "Murdered."

"Murdered?" Fausten's eyes widen, a smirk on his face. "As if Poplin could kill me."

"Fausten Fraser: Placed Twenty-Fourth, murdered by Poplin Silvers of District Eight," I say, my voice sounding monotone and all official-like. "He will be sorely missed."

Sorely missed by who? I just don't know. I highly doubt Fausten even had any friends back in District Six, since he's all too good for the institutions that everyone else attends. He's too upper-class to talk to someone like me, and if he can't even get along with me, who would cope with him?

Besides his Father, whoever that is.

It wouldn't surprise me if Fausten had no friends. He's a freak.

And freaks deserve the critical judgment they receive.

* * *

**Joseph Echemik  
District Nine Male, 15 Years Old**

* * *

"From District Nine: Joseph Echemik – with a score of three."

"Good job, Joseph," Lichen calls over, her words slightly slurring. "A three isn't bad."

Without nodding my head or responding, I stare forward, waiting for the next picture to come. As much as I want to thank her or be grateful for getting a three, I just can't bring myself to it.

I don't really see the point of training scores.

"Woah," Augusta pipes up, waving her hand in front of my face. "How did you manage to get such a bad score?"

I was expecting it, to be honest.

I could make up some excuse for myself for only getting a three out of the possible twelve, but I won't. I know what I did wrong and what I need to work. If anyone asks, I'll just go along with it. I'll nod my head, smile, and pretend to take the pity that they'll give me for getting a three.

I'm used to letting people talk to me like that, so it won't be too different.

"Augusta Daveigh – with a score of five."

"Ah!" Augusta cheers, holding her hands out in front of her. "Do you see that, Joseph? It all paid off!"

Sitting there, I remain motionless, not turning my head or nodding at all. I don't even smile at her, knowing that'll make me look weak. Of all people to not look weak in front of, it'd be her. The first time I did speak to her, she poured her heart out to me, telling me about her life and everything that went wrong.

But, I didn't really care. I just pretended like I did.

And, now that she's Career, I really can't talk to her. They're out to kill people like me, and if I talk to her, that'll just give her the leverage she needs to take advantage of me. For my own sake – and my allies' sake – I'll keep to myself.

"From District Ten: Jaggary Fowl – with a score of three."

Once I see Jaggary's score on the screen, though, I do feel something. We did get the same score, which says something, I guess. Pika, on the other hand, only got a two. Although I don't know Pika to well, I hope he doesn't feel bad about it all. A two isn't that much of a difference from a three, anyway.

We just had something that gave us that extra point.

I just don't need Pika to be mad at us for doing better than him. If he's mad, he might try to betray us or ditch us. As much as I don't want him to, it really wouldn't matter. Sure, I like his company, but when it comes down to it, I'm better off on my own.

I've always been better off on my own, and in the Games, it shouldn't be much different.

"Astrid Pallon – with a score of four."

"Looks like District Nine took the title for best scores this year!" Augusta chirps, swaying her head back and forth. "Well, out of District Nine and District Ten."

This time, I do contemplate whether to say something or not, but I go against it. Laughing at her or correcting her would only make things worse for me. If I ever spoke down to her, she'd go off and tell her allies. Then, her allies would kill me, Pika, and Jaggary for disrespecting them.

As crazy as it sounds, I know they would. Augusta has that type of power over everyone she meets. Where she can just tell them to do something and they'll do it. She already has her stylist and even Lichen wrapped around her finger.

"From District Eleven: Mauer Allister – with a score of five."

"Ew," Augusta comments, her voice sounding disgusted. "He doesn't deserve that. Don't you agree, Joseph?"

Ignoring her, I purposely keep my eyes glued on the television, hoping that the next person comes up soon so Augusta is distracted. Each time she talks to me, I get nervous. Not that I'm afraid to talk to her, but something doesn't seem right about Augusta.

She just seems to exaggerate everything, and I don't like that. I like when people are serious and realistic.

"Don't you agree, Joseph?" She repeats, this time her voice sounding edgy.

Luckily, Mauer's face disappears, and is replaced by the District Eleven girl. Augusta turns her head towards the screen, and I let out a breath of relief, knowing that she'll stop her nonsense now.

"Averil Disoto – with a score of four."

"That's more like it," Augusta says, nodding her head. "Are you upset that a girl from Eleven beat you, Joseph?"

I ignore her.

"Are you, Joseph?"

I ignore her again.

"Joseph."

And again.

It seems that Augusta gets the hint this time, though, and she keeps quiet for the next few moments. From the corner of my eye, I can still see her looking at me, and I shift in my seat a little. I hope my movement doesn't make her think I want to talk to her now.

"From District Twelve: Avis Lowery – with a score of seven."

"We're still better than them," Augusta mumbles. "Coleen scored better than all of them, and so did Cassia."

I can't help but smirk a little at her words. Augusta says that "they're better than them," as if she's actually a valued member of Coleen's Careers. I highly doubt it. They're probably just using her, only wanting her as an alliance to even out the numbers.

Why can't Augusta realize this?

She isn't as important as she makes herself to be.

"Fawn Brett – with a score of four."

"Boo," Augusta coos, standing up from the couch. "Now, I have some important things to attend to, if you don't mind, Joseph."

Looking at the screen one last time, Fawn's face fades away, only leaving the Interviewer and the Games Announcer on the screen. They sit there silently, not even playing with their hands or having any expression on their face.

"That wraps us up, folks! Now, take these training scores into account – they mean more than you think."

Even though they say that, I still don't believe it. I might have only gotten a three, but I know what I'm capable of and I can assure anyone that I didn't do my best in the Private Sessions.

I was just under pressure there.

I didn't expect to get an eight, but a three… I just wish I did better.

But, what does anyone except? I'm a boy from District Nine.

No one from District Nine ever does well.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

So, questions, I guess? By the way, there's only two more Capitol chapters, and honestly, I hope to get them out soon. I want to get to the Bloodbath quickly.

_Are the training scores what you expected? Did any come to a surprise to you (good or bad)?_

And a personal question!

_If you were a Gamemaker, what is one muttation you would create and what would it do? _


	12. Interviews

w w w. riotofcolorhg. blogspot. c o m

w w w. halloffamethg. blogspot. c o m

* * *

**Bishop Grande  
District Three Female, 18 Years Old**

* * *

"Let us start the show off right with Aoife Cosette from District One!"

Cicero holds out his arm towards the edge of the stage, and Aoife pauses for a moment, a toothy smile forming on her face. She walks – more like a strut, but with confidence – onto the stage, walking right past Cicero. She takes it into her own liberty to sit down, and as she crosses her legs, she shoots the audience a glance.

A glance that shows the audience that she's serious. She's serious about all of this.

Cicero and Aoife begin to talk about her life back home, but Aoife keeps it short and cleverly changes the subject. She brings everything back to herself, even when talking about her friends or parents. Really, I'm only expecting Cicero to ask Aoife about the Career split, but he's probably saving that for Coleen.

Aoife just doesn't care as much about it as Coleen does, or at least she says.

Taking a moment to really look over her outfit, I find myself frowning, feeling a little bad about myself. The way the gilded dress complements her tanned skin, her pinned down hair making her look like some Capitol model. Although she isn't one to boast about her looks, she really is pretty, but I'd never admit that to her.

She doesn't deserve any compliments.

"Next up, we have Fabian Verdite!"

Aoife walks right passed all of us, and I look after her, seeing her already undo her hair; she takes the pins out, shakes her hands through it a little, swaying her head back and forth. She takes off some of the jewelry she had on, throwing it to the side. The sound of Fabian's feminine laugh catches my attention, and when I look back at the stage, I hear Fabian babbling on about himself.

Nothing changes with some people.

What is there even to say, anyway? He does shit for this alliance and for himself.

Just some pawn for Aoife to toy with.

"May I introduce to your our most prized possession – Cassiopeia Bryony!"

Letting out a giggle, I cover my mouth, smearing some of the glitter on my cheeks off. Most prized possession is probably the most accurate way to describe her. She's not even real, I can assure you. I mean, obviously she is, but at the same time, she isn't.

There's no way something as different as her can be real.

The conversation between the two of them is just uncomfortable, with Cassiopeia propping herself up in her seat, sitting tall. She barely answers anything Cicero asks, only murmuring certain things to herself. Her outfit, though, does wonders for her; it's a skin-tight body suit with designs all over it. Her hair is a bun, with two large metal brooches holding it up.

She looks like a muttation, if anything.

"So, Cassiopeia-"

"It's Cassia," she snaps, sitting down in her seat now. "Cassia Bryony."

"Okay, then, Cassia," Cicero corrects himself, raising an eyebrow. "What do you think of this year's competition?"

"I don't care about them," Cassia replies, her voice smooth. "I don't matter to them, so why should they matter to me?"

Cicero nods, and as he stands up to end his interview, Cassia just sits there and stares at him. Cicero shakes his head, ends the interview, and waves for Peacekeepers to come escort Cassia. I let out a laugh again, the sight of Cassia sauntering back towards the waiting-area, still glaring at Cicero.

As a Peacekeeper reaches for her, she pulls her hand away, walking right passed everyone.

"Helios Villard, everyone! Let's see if he can follow that act!"

Before Helios walks onto the stage, he gives me a look over his shoulder, and I smile back. If anyone can pull the interviews off, it's him. He has the charisma to do anything, and with someone of his prestige and status back in District Two, that'll be to his advantage.

Even if he isn't too proud of any of it, he'll draw in many sponsors. Not that our alliance won't have enough, with Aoife and all. Her arrogance and vanity alone would at least attract a few sponsors. People probably won't sponsor Avis, simply because he's from District Twelve, and Fabian's useless.

Me? I'm not completely a waste of space.

"So, Helios. I've heard a lot about you," Cicero comments, looking at the audience. "And your family – the Villards. Is there anything you want to say to them?"

Helios adjusts his tie and cuffs on his wrists, shifting a little in his seat. "What's there to say? I do plan on coming home, don't I?"

"That is true," Cicero replies, nodding his head. "Why do you feel that way?"

"If I made it seem like I'm bidding my good-byes already, I shouldn't have volunteered," Helios says back to him, his voice a different tone than before. "I'll be home soon enough, and once I am, I'll tell them everything they need to know."

Helios and Cicero talk a little more about his home back in District Two, and with every comment, I know how uncomfortable Helios is. We've talked about all of that before, and I know for a fact that he doesn't enjoy it. He hasn't told me all of it, but that's private.

I wouldn't tell many people about my life, either. It's a mutual feeling.

"For our next tribute, I want to introduce you all to Bishop Grande!" He hollers, rolling the 'r' in my surname.

Passing Helios, I glide my fingertips across his hand, looking back at him for a moment. We both smile at each other, and then I continue walking towards Cicero, making sure to walk distinctly and showing off my outfit. From personal experience, I can tell you that people judge based on appearance.

Appearance is a mask to fool people with on its own.

"Welcome, Bishop!" Cicero says loudly, holding out his hand. "Welcome!"

Smiling, I perk up my shoulders, letting my curled hair roll down my back. "Hello, Cicero. How are you on this fine day?"

"Me? Let's talk about you," Cicero replies, his voice calmer. "How are _you_ on this fine day?"

"Just dandy," I reply, keeping the smile plastered on my face. "It's even better now that I'm sitting here with you, Cicero. It's always a pleasure."

"Indeed it is, Bishop. Indeed it is," Cicero says, nodding his head. "So, tell me about your outfit – who was the person that thought pink would complement you? They're a genius!"

Giggling, I throw my head back, winking at the audience. "You'll have to thank my stylist, Paullina, for that. She is a genius."

"It truly is lovely, Bishop. Hopefully, we can see you in an outfit like that in the arena," Cicero banters, laughing at himself. The audience gets a kick out of that too, since they all know it can't happen.

Sitting back in the chair, I take a glance at my outfit, the pink color and the ruffles of it making my eyes hurt a little. It is outfits like these that I've seen my whole life, whether or not they are mine. As much as I was convinced that it doesn't matter, all of those outfits still make me feel guilty. If they weren't mine in the first place, how could I take possession of them then?

Cicero speaks again, snapping me out of my thoughts. Cicero stands up, holds out his hand, and I stand up too, our hands meeting. He holds my hand up, the cloth on my arm draping down, the glitter of it all sparkling under the light.

"Here we have it, folks! Bishop Grande from District Three!"

Letting go of his hand, I begin to saunter towards the edge of the stage, keep my eyes on the audience. They are always watching, and even when you're off the stage, they can still probably still see you. I wouldn't doubt it.

Passing Pika on my way off, I look down a little bit, not wanting to make eye-contact with him. From the corner of my eye, I can see Pika smile, but I just don't want to see any of his interview. Honestly, I don't know what's going to happen. I'll admit, he isn't the strongest or the smartest, but I hope he can hold his own.

Watching the television screen, Pika and Cicero begin to talk about his life back in District Three, his allies, and himself. Pika stutters with his words, taking the conversation too casually. His sentences are short and are all over the place, and I don't allow myself to really listen too carefully. I don't want to remember any of this.

I know it's not going to end well for him.

As Pika stands up, Cicero introduces Orson, and I see the two of them exchange a look on their way out. It's a morbid though, but I know that someone like Orson will be the one to kill Pika. Pika stands no chance against someone like Orson.

But, me? I might.

Although he isn't Coleen, Aoife still doesn't want us to talk to them or anything. She might be an awful leader, but at least she set one rule down. Communication is completely off limits. Amazing, isn't it?

Taking the seat next to Helios on the couch, I begin to take of all of the extra cloth on my arms, getting more comfortable on the seat. Turning my back, I gesture for Helios to unzip the light shoulder pads I have over my dress, and he complies. I put everything on the table in front of me, trying to keep my eyes on the screen, listening to whatever I can of Orson's interview.

"Orson, give me the insight we all want," Cicero says, tilting his head upwards. "How do you feel under Coleen's leadership?"

Orson smirks, his hands still in his lap, not moving a muscle. "Coleen is more than qualified for the title of leader. She is disciplined, level-headed, and is committed."

"Hm, that's interesting. What about Aoife? What do you think of the… other leader?" Cicero asks, slowing his words down.

Orson exhales, the smirk disappearing off his face, as if he doesn't want to answer it. "If I had faith in her, I would have joined her alliance. It's that simple."

"I understand," Cicero replies, nodding his head.

Looking around the tributes, I try to locate where Aoife is, but I don't know where she is. Now thinking about it, I don't know where Fabian is, and to be honest, they're probably together back in their level. Fabian's probably whining about something new, while Aoife is sitting there rolling her eyes over and over again.

As long as Helios is here, I'll stay. It's not like I have my District partner to go off with, anyway.

Aoife also said we have to cut off all public communication with anyone else that is not our allies, not just Coleen's allies. It's everyone, now. A little dictatorial of her, but I'll go along with it. I wouldn't want to upset her at this point.

After Orson leaves the stage, Coleen is up next, and I sit back in the chair, resting my head on Helios. Helios wraps his arm around me, the sound of him humming me letting me drift off a little. I still watch the screen as Coleen takes her seat, beginning to talk about her outfit and her allies.

"How does it feel to break the stereotypes of the Games, Coleen?" Cicero asks, edging his body closer.

Coleen smiles, looking at the audience, trying not to break the flow of the interview. "What do you mean, Cicero?"

"Being a female Career leader; we all know a male usually claims that spot," Cicero adds, shrugging with his words.

Coleen's smile twists a little, narrowing her eyes. "Why would that matter, Cicero? Aren't males and females equal, whether physical or mental capability?"

"Well, I guess so, Miss Morisette."

Coleen nods, a prideful smile sneaking onto her face. "My gender does not prove anything. Females are just as good as males, if not better. You'll see that soon."

I never really gave it much thought, but now that Cicero brought it up, I can't help but think about it. Males are usually the Career leaders, except for a few random Games where the girl took the spot. Although I don't really believe in Aoife, I do think Coleen can handle herself.

It's funny, isn't it? I don't even trust Aoife. I'm just here for the time being.

I'm here because I know I'll survive longer. Helios is just a plus, but once the time comes, I have to leave.

The Hunger Games isn't a place for temporary friendships. They just end all the same way – death.

Whether it'll be me, Helios, or both, I just don't know.

It can be any one of us.

* * *

**Alecto Marcial  
District Five Female, 17 Years Old**

* * *

"Now, it is time for Alecto Marcial of District Five to take the stage!"

_Head up, smile on. Just be yourself, and they'll like you. That's all I have to remember._

Repeating Brites' words in my mind, I step onto the stage, immediately freezing at the sight of the lights shining down on me and everyone's eyes on me. Not too many people notice my faulting walk, and I continue forward, occasionally looking up from my shoes. The click-clacking of my heels against the floor echo in my mind, and before I know it, Cicero is in front of me.

"Hello, Alecto. Welcome to the interviews," he says, as if I don't know where we are. Why are people laughing? It's like he's mocking me, or that he genuinely wants to welcome me. I just don't know.

"Hi, Cicero," I say back, my cheeks flushing with red. "Thank you."

He barely pauses, immediately responding to me. "No, no, thank _you_, Alecto. What should we discuss with you? You seem… _different_."

"Different?" I repeat, my voice too low for him to hear. Raising my voice, I ask again, trying to see what he means by calling me that. "Different?"

"You seem to have something to you. Something I just can't quite put my finger on, Alecto. Tell us, is this a part of an act?"

"No," I answer, shaking my head. "It's not an act."

Cicero winks, leaning back in his chair. "Tell us, Alecto. Do you have a strategy for the arena? A girl like you has to have something planned out."

_Strategy,_ I think to myself. _Strategy._

"I plan to be resourceful," I reply, trying to get all my words out quickly before anyone loses interest. "I will keep my eyes open, not let my guard down, and do what I've done my whole life."

"That was a mouthful, wasn't it?" Cicero jokes, making me feel like I messed up already. "But, let's get back to you. What have you been doing your whole life, then?"

"Surviving," I reply, the word coming out of my mouth faster than I could process it completely. "Being clever, resourceful, and sharp."

"Compelling, really. Is there one last thing you want to tell us about yourself, Alecto? Think carefully," Cicero says, his words more piercing than they should be.

And that is what I do.

I could tell him about my life, my opinions on everything, or the way I'm feeling. Or, maybe, what I felt about my training score or having no allies. I could tell him about my relationship with Brites or Devan, but I don't know. I don't know what I want to say. You only get one chance here.

That's it.

"I want to tell everyone that I'm not going to waste my time here," I say, my voice starting out as a little shaky, but gradually becoming calmer. "That I'm not going to be reckless in the arena. I don't plan on letting my chance at victory slip."

"And with that, I bid good-bye to Alecto Marcial!"

The audience erupts in applaud and a few whistles, and as I stand up, I catch myself staring at the crowd in front of me. Cicero waves his hand, and I comply with the gesture, walking back towards the waiting-area. Going right up against the wall, I watch all of the other tributes, trying not to get in their way.

Most of the Careers are gone already, except for Coleen and Orson from her Pack, and anyone else that hasn't gone, of course. I guess they just lost interest, or maybe they're watching them in their rooms. I would prefer to watch in my room, since it'd be private and all.

I would have more time to think then.

Glancing at the screen, I see that Devan, my District partner, is already up for the interviews. I've never really gave him much thought, except for the first impressions. He's quiet, and even though I tried to talk to him at least once or twice, he just rejected me. I got the hint, so it doesn't matter anymore.

I don't want to feel like a burden.

"Devan Halloway," Cicero utters, resting his arms on the arm-rests. "Tell me one thing you enjoy about the Capitol."

"The technology," Devan replies, his face showing complete indifference to everything. "If anything."

"If anything?" Cicero asks, not being satisfied with what Devan is giving him. I hope I wasn't acting like Devan is right now, since if I was, I can only imagine what Cicero looked like as he talked to me.

"It's all impressive, obviously. Especially for someone who comes from District Five."

Really, he has a point. Everything here – ranging from the buildings to the food – is completely different than District Five. District Five lacked in a lot, and I'm not even exaggerating. Poor working conditions, poverty and malnourishment, and a generally dissatisfied atmosphere with the citizens. But, it had its perks, I'll admit.

It could have been much worse.

After Devan's interview is done, Rionach, the girl from Six, is up. She sits down on the chair, looking uncomfortable and even more indifferent than Devan did. But, with her, she seems angrier about it. Her eyebrow is furrowed and she keeps shifting in her seat. Rionach and Cicero go through her interview, talking about random things, but Rionach barely gives him anything. She just nods her head, rolls her eyes, or simply ignores the question.

"Is something wrong, Rionach?" Cicero asks, his voice feigning sincerity. "You seem… irritated."

"Irritated?" Rionach repeats, throwing her head back, laughing a little. "I'm completely irritated."

"And why is that? Tell us, Rionach! Tell us!" Cicero hollers, being more excited now that she's actually talking to him.

"Well, I don't really want to be here. I was forced to be here," she replies, staring right into Cicero's eyes. "This is a big inconvenience for me."

This is the girl that I was supposed to ally with. The girl I was supposed to let sleep next to me, or watch over me while I'm completely passed out. The girl that I would have to be with, without anyone else being near us. Not to be rude, but I probably wouldn't be able to deal with her.

I just find people who constantly complain hard to deal with.

Cicero ends her interview, and as he holds out his hand for Rionach to shake, she walks right passed him. She walks right past the Peacekeepers as well, heading right for the door in the back. I look down at the ground, trying not to make eye-contact with her, and as I look up, she's gone.

What is her problem?

At first, I was a little disappointed for not being able to ally with her. The idea of an ally seems great, but once I thought about it, it just seems so pointless. They'll have to die eventually, and you might have to as well. It wouldn't last forever, and the chances of your whole alliance making it far in the Games are far-fetched. Rionach doesn't seem to be upset about not allying with me, so why should I be?

Clearly, I didn't mean much to her.

Remembering where we are, I look back at the screen, only catching Fausten's final words of his interview. Cicero is standing at this point, with his microphone extended towards Fausten. Fausten nods his head, licks his lips, and then opens his mouth.

Clearing his throat, he pats down the front of his suit. "I want to tell my Father something."

"Please do," Cicero whispers back, the microphone going closer to his face.

"I _will_ make you proud, whether you are watching or not."

Cicero blinks rapidly, trying to assess what he had just said. Fausten bows, steps back, and then strides back to the waiting-area. We're all staring at him, and as he comes towards me, I can't help but stare at him. He's so… interesting. He's such a peculiar person, and I still don't understand why he allied with Devan.

Something just doesn't feel right about it.

Next up is the girl from Seven, Alise. As much as I don't want to watch her alliance, I feel obligated to. Something has always been off with her, and tonight, nothing she can do will help her. I feel admitting it, but she's going to embarrass herself. As Cicero asks her the first question about her favorite part of the Capitol, she just props herself up in her seat, hanging her arms over the side.

"Well?" Cicero leans in closer, placing his hand on her back. "Alise?"

"I like the people."

"The people?"

"The ones who can't speak," Alise pipes up, shoving her face in Cicero's. "Why can't they speak?"

Cicero adjusts his tie, leaning back in his chair. He changes the subject, asking her what another part of the Capitol was her favorite. Alise's shenanigans continue to the end of it, and for some reason, this one seems to drag on and on.

After Alise's interview is finally complete, Hollis, her District partner, takes the stage. Him and Cicero just talk about being in Coleen's Career alliance this year, why he chose her over Aoife, and what he plans on doing in it.

I never gave him much thought, either. His allies, yes, but him, no. He just feels like he's thrown in the alliance.

That doesn't mean I can over-look him, though. He can be just as strong as the others, with his score of six and all, but I know for a fact that he isn't the biggest competition here. I still will not go anywhere near him in the arena, or his allies, for that matter.

They could kill me, it's that simple. And I don't plan on getting killed, especially not by a Career. They don't deserve the satisfaction, nor does anyone else. Although I didn't want to get reaped, I'm here now, and there's no turning back.

I'll make the best of it, since it's the only thing I can do.

"May I introduce you to Poplin Silvers of District Eight!"

The girl from Eight scampers onto the stage, holding her hands together in front of her purple dress. It sways side to side with every step, and as she reaches her seat, she stands there for a moment. She looks out into the audience, smiles, and then sits down.

Cicero and her talk a little bit, mostly about her dress and how she feels about her stylists. Cicero then brings up her alliance, but not mentioning anyone in particular. I haven't paid much attention to her, but I can assume that she's allying with Alise. Maybe Astrid or Averil too, but Alise is definitely her ally.

"Alise just reminds me of home," Poplin answers sweetly. "My friends, too. She's just like Alizarin."

"Alizarin? Who is this Alizarin?" Cicero asks, smiling at the sight of Poplin's shining smile.

"She's my best friend. She's the best girl anyone can ask for in your life, and that's who I miss most."

Cicero talks to Poplin some more about her friend, and as she talks more and more about her friends, I find myself frowning. I never had many in District Five, but I had enough. The one time I did think about Issac and Dina was at night after Training Day One. I wished they were there with me, but I knew they couldn't be. I forced myself to stop thinking about them; I was making myself too sad.

Although it's a bad thought, I know I shouldn't think about them now. They should be the least of my worries.

Poplin walks off stage now, and as Blake takes the stage, he says something to Poplin. His voice was too quiet to be audible and the camera wasn't even really on the two of them, so no one knows. Poplin comes back into the waiting-area, the smile still on her face.

"Before we begin, I want to apologize," Blake says, his voice sounding truly upset.

"For what?" Cicero asks, a little hesitant. "What is there to apologize for?"

"For my District partner," Blake says, a guffaw following his words. "She should have just kept her mouth shut. That would have been best."

Being rather shocked at what he's saying, I scan the tributes that are left for Poplin, but I can't find. It might have been a joke, but from the looks of it, Poplin and Blake aren't friendly. Being rude to someone just isn't right, whether or not people laugh. Especially not someone like Poplin, who can't be any older than fourteen.

Why treat her like that? She never did anything to him.

It's just another thought that I shouldn't concern myself with – how everyone treats each other.

The only thing I should worry about is how people treat me. Because, at the end of the day, I'm on my own.

And I've come to learn something.

That I should be the only one that matters to me.

* * *

**Mauer Allister  
District Eleven Male, 17 Years Old**

* * *

"Next up – Augusta Daveigh of District Nine!"

Leaning against the wall, I watch the screen, smirking at the sight of Augusta bouncing up to the stage. She waves, being completely dramatic and over-the-top about everything. As stupid as it looks, I can't blame her. She's doing exactly what she has to in this situation – getting the audience's attention.

That's all the interviews are for, aren't they? To exploit us?

"I've heard a lot about you, Augusta," Cicero leans in, talking to her in a casual tone. "Too much, if you ask me."

Augusta bats her eyelashes, tilting her head. "Too much? There's always more where that… information comes from, Cicero. I'm full of it."

Full of it, indeed. She certainly is.

Augusta and Cicero go on and on, talking about all material things such as her clothes, hair, and about her appearance in general. Whenever Cicero brings up anything emotional or anything about her personally, Augusta's face changes. Her smiles turn into something else, with her eye having a glint that I can't put my finger on.

She truly is full of it.

As Augusta's interview comes to an end, she is replaced by her District partner, Joseph. Throughout the Capitol, I've kept my eye on him. An alliance with him was debatable, but once he paired himself with the boy from Three, I couldn't bring myself to allying with him, too. Joseph was enough on his own, and then, Joseph and Pika allied with Jaggary.

I would just be better off alone.

"So, Joseph," Cicero says, tapping his foot on the stage. "Tell us about District Nine from your eyes. Did you like it? How were the people?"

"No, I did not like it," Joseph replies, his words quick and short. "The people weren't the best."

"And why is that?" Cicero asks, prying more information out of Joseph.

Shrugging, Joseph leans his head back a little, his face remaining emotionless. "Just were."

Joseph and Cicero only go on for a minute or two more, with Joseph keeping his answers short in a low voice, all revolving around the idea that no one likes him. He just wants pity, if anything. Maybe the both of us are better off without allying.

Doesn't mean I don't feel bad, though. I would have protected him, but now, he's not my reasonability.

Astrid from District Ten takes the stage, her short dress bouncing up and down with every step. Her figure is so small, yet she has some redeeming quality; she's quiet, reserved, and apparently, can hold her own. A training score of four isn't someone to overlook, especially when I only got a five.

"What do you think about District Ten, Astrid?" Cicero asks, winking at the audience, hinting back at Joseph's interview.

Astrid turns towards the audience, her fidgety hands resting comfortably now. "It was lovely," Astrid replies, nodding her head with every word. "It was just beautiful, for a lack of a better word."

Cicero leans in, raising an eyebrow. "Tell us more, Astrid. What made it so beautiful?"

Astrid smiles, her legs shaking a little bit as she talks about her home. "My family lived in a tiny cottage, and that's all I grown up with. The peeling paint, the door hanging off the hinges, the certain smell that District Ten," Astrid pauses, shrugging a little bit. "It was all so cozy. That's what made it beautiful."

"That's a lovely image, Astrid."

Looking back at all of the tributes, some seem to be sincerely touched by Astrid's interview, while others simply stand there. They could at least have some emotion for this girl. All of us could use a distraction, and some image painted by this girl in our minds would be a great one.

It definitely reminds me of my home, so everyone should think about it too. Something like our home is unforgettable.

Jaggary, Joseph's other ally, takes the stage now, his small frame looking ridiculous in the large chair. He leans on the arm rest, leaning over it a little bit. Cicero inches closer, trying to hear Jaggary's voice more clearly. Jaggary speaks quietly, but something about his voice is just memorable.

It has a certain edge to it.

"Tell us about your alliance, Jaggary. What made you choose that bunch?" Cicero asks, a few noises from the audience erupting as he finishes his question. They're probably all laughing at Jaggary.

"They're an interesting 'bunch,' as you called it," Jaggary answers, some attitude in his words. "The three of us should not be overlooked."

"Why is that?"

"Well, Cicero, I'll tell you," Jaggary smirks, his eyes widening at Cicero. "Just because we're not a part of the Career group and we didn't get tens as training scores, it doesn't mean a thing."

"So, you're telling me that you might have a shot at victory?" Cicero narrows his eyes, acting as if it's a rhetorical question.

"I'm not telling you anything," Jaggary snaps back. "Everyone should know that not everyone is what they seem."

With that, Jaggary's interview is over, and for a moment, I regret everything I've said. Maybe Jaggary isn't as bad as I made him seem; Joseph might have the advantage there. Pika, on the other hand, I can't say much about. He's just the third member of the alliance that just seems to be there.

"Up next is Averil Disoto from District Eleven!" Cicero calls out into his microphone, holding his out towards Averil.

Watching Averil stroll across the stage, I find myself smiling. I never thought I would ally with her, or ever thought that she and I would be friends. We aren't necessarily friends, but not because I don't want to be, it's just because it wouldn't feel right. If anything happened to her in the arena, I would feel like it'd be my fault.

That I should have done something for her. We all have something to lose, after all. I can't be selfish.

Averil and Cicero talk about District Eleven, and as she mentions certain things, I drift off, thinking about my own life. The trees, the rows and rows of crops, and even the Peacekeepers. The Peacekeepers that would watch over all of us, making sure that we would do the right thing, and if we didn't, were more than willing to whip anyone. I just hope that Averil never had to do any of this, not for someone so petite and so young.

It's not a life for such a girl to live. It's a life that no one should live, but I can't complain. It keeps me busy and it helps my family.

"Tell us about your life back in District Eleven, Averil."

Averil looks off into the distance, biting her lip a little. "It was tough, if I'm going to be honest. I can't sugar coat that," Averil answers, her voice sincere. "But, I did what I could. I worked, I was independent, and it made me the person I am today."

"That's touching," Cicero says, wiping his finger under his eye. How dramatic. "What about your family?"

"It was what it was," Averil replies, seeming to get a little emotional at the mention of them. "I'll fight to return to them, that's for sure. I'll fight to get them the money they deserve, so that they don't have to work another day in any of their lives."

As Averil's interview comes to an end, I adjust my tie, preparing myself for the interview. I haven't really prepared for the interviews at all, and the only practice I got was by mentally answering all of the questions that Cicero asks the other tributes. He could ask me anything, and with every single one, I have to have an answer.

If not, there's goes all of my chances.

"Mauer Allister of District Eleven, everyone!"

Here goes nothing.

Stepping onto the stage, the bright lights and mass audience takes me by surprise, and I slip with my steps a little. I catch myself, trying to walk with more confidence and as a stride. As I approach Cicero, I extend my hand, shaking his hand forcefully as our hands meet.

"Welcome, Mauer," Cicero says, sitting down in his chair. "Please, sit down."

Unbuttoning the bottom button on my suit jacket, I sit back, leaning back in the chair. I put my leg on top of my other one, making it seem like I'm comfortable with everything. At least, that's what I've seen done in several previous interviews of Games I used to watch in District Eleven. I look up, seeing Cicero smiling brightly at me.

"Comfortable, hm?" He says, chuckling a little bit. "So, Mauer. Let's start off with something simple and see where you take us. What were your initials thoughts as you were reaped?"

Jerking my head to the side a little, it probably looks like I have a twitched, but I couldn't help it. I just really don't have an answer to that, since I was speechless when it happened. I can't tell him that, though. I have to think of something.

"I didn't believe it at first," I concede, licking my lips. "I wasn't scared, or confused, or shocked, I was just… accepting."

"Accepting?" Cicero echoes, wanting me to explain.

"I believe that I was put in the Games for a reason," I say, waving my hand. "Some larger force out there personally picked me for the Games, knowing that I might do well in them."

"That's an interesting theory," he replies, nodding his head. "What about everyone else, then? Are they picked specially for the Games?"

"Perhaps," I answer, closing my eyes for a moment. "But, I don't want to concern myself with the fates of others. I know what mine is, and that's all that matters."

"And what is your fate, Mauer?" Cicero inclines his head.

"You'll find out soon enough," I reply, a sly smile crawling onto my face, trying not to look weak or scared. "We will all find out soon enough."

"Mysterious, aren't you," Cicero murmurs, his voice gradually getting louder. "Is there one last thing you want to say to all of us?"

Letting out a long, deep breath, I lean forward. "I wouldn't count out District Eleven this year," I say, looking right into the eyes of Cicero, and then turning my head towards the audience. "Whether Averil or myself, I want you to keep an eye out for us. We might surprise you all."

Cicero stands up, and I follow, shaking his hand again. As we shake hands, he looks up at me, the look in his eyes making him seem confused. That he doesn't know what I mean, and that maybe, for once, he's actually thinking that District Eleven will do well. That, on this rare occasion, if it is to be true, District Eleven might bring home a victor.

Walking off the stage, I pass Averil, and I smile down at her. She smiles back, playing with the edge of her light green dress. I keep walking forward, glancing to the side at the screens on the walls, seeing the District Twelve girl go for her interview.

Fawn, her name is. Her and Cicero talk about her life back in District Twelve, and one thing I do find interesting is what she used to do. I stop myself, wanting to listen to more of her story. Apparently, she used to work in the mines, and one day, something went wrong. The mines exploded, and she was buried in rubble and nearly suffocated.

"How does that affect you as a person, Fawn?" Cicero asks, placing his hand on top of her hand.

"It made me strong, Cicero," she says, sounding confident. "Like they say, what doesn't kill you, makes you stronger."

Fawn stands up, and Cicero hugs her, patting her back. Fawn returns the hug, smiling back at the audience as she faces them. As she walks off, her District partner, Avis, is called up. Everyone looks at Fawn as she walks past us all, and although I don't know much about her, she doesn't seem too happy right now. She walks right past me, her eyes watery. I might not know her, but for some reason, I want to console her.

I want to tell her that everything will be okay. But, I can't. This isn't the time to make friends.

The sound of Cicero and the audience laughing catches my attention, and on the screen, there's Cicero wiping underneath his eye with his finger. Avis is chuckling too, and I assume that he's the one that made a joke.

"So, Avis. Tell me the truth," Cicero says, raising an eyebrow. "What made you join the Careers? Was there a reason you joined Aoife's?"

"They're humorous, to be honest," Avis replies, a prideful smirk on his face, as if he means something now. "They keep me company, and I know that they'll have my back. I was a great addition to her Pack, and without me, they'd be nothing."

Although I know Avis is joking, since he's smiling again and some people are laughing, I can't help but roll my eyes. He's probably genuinely convinced that he means something now, just from being in the Careers. Aoife's, too, which isn't making anything better.

It's only a disaster waiting to happen.

One that I wish I wouldn't have to witness.

But, unfortunately, it'll affect everyone. That is, if I'm still alive to witness it.

And I don't know if I want to be anymore.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Interviews, mhm. What'd you think of them? I always find writing them kind of 'eh'.. they get repetitive quickly and I run out of things to say in them.

So… yeah. There you go.

Personal question!

_What would your interview angle be?_


	13. Launch

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w w w. halloffamethg. blogspot. c o m

* * *

**Orson Nautica  
District Four Male, 17 Years Old**

* * *

"You never told anyone why you volunteered."

"Why would I?" I answer, looking up from my plate. "Is it really anyone's business?"

Coleen shrugs, going back to eating her breakfast. "No need to get all defensive," she murmurs, tapping the metal fork against the rim of the plate. "Figured we should at least get to know each other."

Raising an eyebrow, I stare right at Coleen, watching her pick up the food on her plate and then drop it back down. "What do you mean 'get to know each other'? Don't you already know enough?"

"No, not really," she answers back, pushing her chair back from the table. "Just wanted to start a conversation. I thought you'd be interested, but guess not."

Before I can say anything else, Coleen is already gone, heading right for the bathroom. She's been up all night, and admittedly, so have I. I would never say anything to her, but I felt bad for her, I guess. Sure, I wanted to make sure she was okay; she seemed all frazzled by everything. She kept playing with her hair, staring at herself in the mirror, and drinking water.

That's how my night went.

We both eventually went to bed, and I never really asked how she was last night. Telling someone that you were concerned or asking them how they are is just something I don't do often; it makes it all awkward and it just leads to something else. Coleen seems fine now, though, so that's good.

"Where's Coleen?" Mags asks, her soft voice coming closer. "In the bathroom again?"

Nodding my head, I place my fork down, taking one last sip of the juice in the cup. Mags saunters around the room, pacing back and forth along the window sill. Atlas is somewhere, probably already downstairs waiting for us. He seems more eager for the Games to start than Coleen or I am.

I can see why, though. Mentoring seems challenging as it is.

Mags knocks on the door, and after only a few knocks, Coleen opens the door. She's changed into a dark blue outfit, with tight pants and a tight shirt. I've been in the same clothes since I went to sleep last night, knowing that I didn't want to waste the energy changing. Seeing Coleen do things like this just makes me even more worried.

I really don't know why I'm so worried about her.

I'm just used to caring about people more than I care about myself, and with her, I can't help it. She isn't really a friend or anything, just a companion. An ally now, too. Maybe that's why I care so much; she's in charge of the Careers this year, and that's probably adding enough stress as it is.

I could never lead a Pack like she is. I could never be able to lead kids of my own age, telling them what to do and where they should go. I'm not too fond of being ordered around, but I'll comply with it. I just want to be helpful, after all.

"Are you both ready to go?"

I'm already at the door, and Coleen soon follows, dragging her finger along the wall. She looks up as she meets me at the door, a certain smile on her face that I can't get out of my mind. She's not as arrogant as everyone says she is, she's just…. she's just sure of herself.

It's not that bad, though. Sometimes, having a little confidence in yourself is a good thing.

Opening the door, the three of us head down the hallway, no one speaking or making any noises. Coleen is in front of us, followed by Mags, and then me in the back. In front of us the elevator doors slide open, all three of us taking a step into it. Coleen pushes the button, her hand forcefully pressing against it.

"Are you okay?" Mags asks, the sincerity in her eyes. "Are the both of you okay?"

I nod.

"And what about you, Coleen?"

She nods.

"If there's anything I can do," Mags begins, her voice almost at a whisper. "Don't hesitate to wave your hand to me in the arena. I'll be watching."

Coleen and I exchange a look, knowing that we'll both probably take her up on that offer. A mentor sponsoring someone isn't rare, it's something that happens a lot, but you never really see it happens in the Games. Either the mentors aren't being truthful when saying that they will, or the Capitol has some restriction on it.

I wouldn't put it pass the Capitol to do something like that. Get the tributes hopes up just to shoot them down.

The elevator dings, the doors sliding back open. The room is expansive, with a hovercraft in the center of it. There's an opening in the ceiling, which is probably where the hovercraft will leave from. There are a few tributes scattered around the room, but most of them are beginning to pack onto the hovercraft.

Tributes only now, no mentors.

Without saying good-bye, Coleen begins to walk towards the hovercraft, and I follow her. I follow behind her quietly, not trying to let her know I'm purposefully following her. Ever since I joined her Pack, I've done what she's asked. It's the least I could do for her.

Helping people is something I'm used to, and with her, it's no different.

Besides, when she told me I'm the second-in-command, I took that as a good sign. I'll do what I can to help this alliance, whether it means telling someone what to do or ordering people around. And, if it comes down to it, I'll take Coleen's spot as leader. I'm not short of commitment in situations like this.

Especially not when it comes to people I care about.

Walking up the ramp into the hovercraft, the Peacekeepers look us all up and down, their faces remaining emotionless. I stare at one of them as I take my seat, my eyes not being able to look away. They look back for a moment, and that's when I look away.

I don't know what it is about them.

Sitting down in the seat, I pull the seatbelts across my chest, locking myself in. To my right is the girl from Three, Bishop, and to my left is the boy from Nine. Staring at the ground, I wait to have my tracker injected in me, not looking at Coleen or any of my allies anymore.

As much as I've tried to convince myself that this was the right thing, I can't help but think it wasn't.

But, I had to. It was a part of the contract. It was the only my family would be able to live in that home – to volunteer for Kiernan if he was ever reaped. I just went through with it.

Holding my arm up as the lady approaches me, she presses the needle against my skin, pressing down on the top of it. The tracker is injected into my arm, and I flinch a little bit, staring down at the blinking light underneath my skin. Bishop grumbles a little bit, while the boy from Nine seems to have no reaction.

It's morbid to think that soon, they could both be dead. I could be dead, too.

But, I won't go down that easy.

I volunteered for my family – for their well-being. For the both of our well-being.

It's something I had to do.

Winning wouldn't be just for me, it'd be for my family.

And I can't let them down like that.

Not after all they've been through.

* * *

**Augusta Daveigh  
District Nine Female, 17 Years Old**

* * *

Stepping through the doors, I see Antonia already in there, holding some clipboard in her hand. She's writing away on it, occasionally brushing the strands of hair out of face, putting them behind her ear. Then, she pauses and places the clipboard down, still not seeing I'm here.

Admittedly, I'll miss her.

It's not like I have some connection with her, she's just a stylist. But, one thing she did was listen. She listened to me, whether the things I said were a lie or not. All I need is someone to listen.

Is it really that hard to ask for? Someone to listen?

Of course it is. Not even my allies could give a shit, especially not Cassiopeia. Or Coleen or Orson, for that matter. Hollis, maybe, but he's just a problem waiting to happen. He can't keep his mouth shut, always asking too many questions and then telling everyone the answer.

It's all so stupid.

"Auggy!" She cheers, throwing her arms around me. After embracing the hug, she removes herself, only leaving her hands on my shoulders. "How are you today? Are you scared? Are you nervous? Are you ready?"

"I'm as ready as I'll ever be," I mumble, trying to sound peppy. "What about you? Are you ready?"

Antonia smirks, removing her hands from my shoulders. "This isn't the first time I've had to watch my kiddies go off into the Games. Do you want to know something, though?"

"Of course, Antonia," I reply, a mixture of fake interest and genuine interest in my tone. "What is it?"

"You're one of my favorites, Auggy," she replies, walking over towards the wall, running her hand up and down on some wrapped outfit; probably my arena suit.

"You're one of my favorites," I say back, being sincere at this moment, but quickly pushing the emotion down. "You're better than all of my friends back in District Nine."

"Am I really?" She pipes up, holding her hands to her chest. "You really think so?"

Stepping to the side, I leap onto the bed, bringing my legs up. I sit crisscross, leaning elbows on my legs. Antonia, or whatever her real name is, begins to unwrap the suit. Pulling it out, I examine it, trying to assess it and to figure out how comfortable it will be on me.

The first thing I notice is that it's brown.

Brown like the wood of farms back in District Nine, or the dying grass along the roads. It's a really boring brown, just being brown and all with no other color mixed in. Antonia looks just as confused as I am, and as she holds it up, she begins to stare at it.

"Do we all get the same color?" I ask, hoping we don't. Brown would make my time in the arena even more horrendous.

"I hope not," Antonia jokes, lying the suit down on the long metal table. "Let's get you changed!"

Standing up, I quickly take off all of my clothes, not really caring about being nude in front of her anymore. She's probably jealous of the way my body looks, not being cocky or anything. For a stylist, she's rather… pudgy, if I may say that. I thought they would have been in better shape.

The suit is a one piece, and I put my legs in first, the fabric of is nearly sticking to my body. It's not insulated or water proof or anything, so there's no hint to what the arena could be. Pulling it over my shoulders, I slip my arms into it, and wait for Antonia to zip up the front. She places the brown boots next to me, and as I put them on, I look up into the mirror.

This really is it.

I'll be in the arena in only a few minutes.

What will I do then? Lying won't help me as much as I wish it could.

"You look gorgeous," Antonia coos through her humming. "So, so gorgeous."

"You want to try it on?" I ask, winking.

In a perfect world, she'd try it on. Then, I could push her into the capsule that would take me in to the arena, and that'd be it. She would go in the arena for me, while I would then take her job as a stylist. How hard could it be?

I know a few things about fashion and colors.

One thing I am certain I know is that brown is an atrocious color.

"What do you plan on doing in the arena?" Antonia asks, folding the wrapping of the suit into a square.

I take her words as a shock, not really knowing what she expects me to answer with. "Uh, survive?"

Antonia nods, as if I just told her the secret meaning to life. "That sounds good."

"What else would I do?" I ask, a little agitated. "Not survive?"

"Well, I don't know," Antonia admits, being completely serious. You can tell from the way she's looking at me now; she really doesn't know anything about the Games.

"Do you know how the Games work?" I ask, biting the corner of my lip. "How they _really_ work."

"I know that there's only one victor," Antonia continues, tapping her finger on the metal table. "I know that they are called tributes, and that they fight."

"Fight for what?" I ask, wanting to tell me more of what she knows.

"Fight for their lives," Antonia deadpans, and for the first time, she isn't as stupid as I thought she was. "I just never watched the whole Games. Only the recaps of them."

"During the victor's interview?"

"Yes, that."

Dropping the conversation, I turn towards the tube where I'm supposed to step in soon, and freeze for a moment. For the first time since I've been in the Capitol, I feel nervous. Not nervous about the chance that I might be killed, or that I might have kill, but about the unknown.

What will happen in there?

It's a question that I can't get an answer for.

_Anything _can happen.

Reassuring myself, I step up to the capsule, my hands curling into fists. Looking over my shoulder, I give Antonia one last glance, knowing that this might be the last moment I see her. After this, I can either die or win. I can either return home, to see Antonia again, or die in the Games, my body going back to District Nine.

But, I'll do anything I can to not let that happen.

I won't go down without a fight. I've come too far in life just to drop it altogether now.

I'm not wasting any more time.

Trust me.

* * *

**Helios Villard  
District Two Male, 18 Years Old**

* * *

"Maroon looks great on you!"

Looking forward, I tense a little bit, her shrilling voice sending a chill down my spine. It's not something I'll miss too much, or the way she felt the need to scrub down my body ten times during the Interviews, or the way she dressed Cassiopeia and I during the Chariot Rides.

I might even be able to live a little easier now, without her constantly harassing me.

It's not that I don't appreciate what she's done for me, but at times, I wish she would just stop. She probably should have dealt with Cassiopeia, since her stylist had enough trouble with her as it is. She needs the help here, not me. I'm fine on my own, just like I always was.

I might be about to enter the Games, but I haven't changed. I'm still the same person I was on the day I volunteered.

Smirking at myself, it begins to fade, the voice coming onto the loud speaker saying that there's only five more minutes until we have to go into the tubes. Standing straight, I breathe in and out, trying to calm myself. As soon as I woke up this morning, I was nervous. I could barely sleep last night, and at one point, I even contemplated to get up and see where Nashira is. I thought about going to see Cassiopeia, but that might not have been the best idea.

Not after everything the Careers have been through this year.

It didn't help, though. I just got up, drank some water, and then fell back on the bed. For some reason, I just couldn't sleep. I was restless, tossing and turning in the bed. I eventually fell asleep, though, after staring out the window for about an hour. I just kept thinking about everything that could go wrong in the arena.

Most of my thoughts ending with death.

"It's time," my stylist utters from behind me, placing her hand on my shoulder. "Please step into the capsule."

Exhaling one more time, I step forward, the sound of the glass sliding closed behind me. I stand forward, not wanting to look back at my stylist one more time. I just want to look forward now, not wanting to feel regretful or wanting to look back. I have to continue head forward into the Games – it's what I want.

I know what I'm doing.

If I wasn't, I wouldn't have volunteered.

There's a clicking sound, and I panic a little bit, looking all over the tube. Above me, the top slides to the side, revealing the sky of the arena. The sky is normal enough, it being full of white puffy clouds and a sun somewhere out there. As the platform rises, I shake my head, trying to focus myself.

There's a tap on the glass from below, and I don't look down, knowing that it's my stylist. I keep my head straight, wanting to be able to assess the arena as soon as I can. Finally, the platform is set, and I take a little step back.

What?

In front of me, it's just a hill. It's a hill that goes upwards, grass and a few flowers covering it. At the top of the hill, I can see the top of some structure, and I assume that it's the Cornucopia. But, it doesn't look like a normal Cornucopia like the other Games; there seems to be a few poles that are angled, leading up to one central point.

On the top of that point, the countdown has already started. It's at 60 seconds, and as it tocks down and down, I spin around, trying to see what's behind me.

Behind me, there's just a lush forest. The trees are all green, with bushes and smaller patches of grass throughout it. It's a circle, by the looks of it, going around all of the tributes. I can't see right through the forest, but it seems to be pretty deep. I turn back around, looking up the hill.

40 seconds.

I continue to look around a little, and from around the bend of the hill I can see a type of fog rising. It's not really fog, but more-so smoke. It's a colorful smoke, not your typical white or gray smoke. It's full of different colors, like yellow, green, red, and pink. It quickly disperses around the tributes, soon going over everyone's head.

It comes closer and closer to me, and I quickly look to both of my sides, trying to see where everyone is. To my right is the girl from Ten and to my left is the boy from Five. Looking back up, my vision is soon impeded by the fog, the colors of it distracting me a little.

20 seconds.

Not being able to see through the fog, I get into a running position, prepared to head right up the hill. I know that running up the hill takes more energy than running down, so I tense up all my muscle in my legs, prepared to lunge myself right at the hill and get right into a sprint. If I really wanted to, I could just turn around, running right into the forest; there has to be supplies in there.

But, I have my allies to worry about. I have allies that are now my liability.

15 seconds.

And that's when I remember everything. It all comes back to me at this moment, and as I lose track of the time at the top of the Cornucopia, I drift off for a few seconds. The thoughts of everyone in my family flashes before me, and as every thought passes, it just makes me more determined.

10 seconds.

It makes me more determined, since I know it's what I have to do. I have to win for them, don't I? Not for them, but for myself. In a way, I'll win for them, too, but not to give them the money or fame. They're already plagued with enough of that, but… but I'm not doing it for their benefit.

I'm doing it for mine.

5 seconds.

The fog is now at about my shoulders, and I count down in my head, the five seconds seeming like a whole minute. This is it, this is what I volunteered for. I volunteered to go into the Games, and I don't plan on backing down now.

Helios Villard isn't a quitter, and now isn't the time to back down or get scared.

I didn't volunteer to just be a quitter… I volunteered to win.

_Three._

_Two._

_One._

* * *

"_Let the Thirtieth Annual Hunger Games begin!"_

* * *

**Author's Note:**

There you go! You've met all the tributes now. I have a few questions.

_From what was revealed, what do you think about the arena?_

_Who do you think will die in the Bloodbath? Who do you want to die in the Bloodbath?_

_Any ideas on who will kill? _

And the famous personal question.

_What would be your Bloodbath strategy?_


	14. Arena: Day One

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w w w. halloffamethg. blogspot. c o m

* * *

**Cassiopeia Bryony  
District Two Female, 17 Years Old  
Day One: Bloodbath: Part I**

* * *

"_Let the Thirtieth Annual Hunger Games begin!"_

I stumble a little bit, the adrenaline rush surging through me, making me want to get to the Cornucopia faster. To kill faster, to hurt anyone has ever hurt me faster… I just want it to be done with. For me get the satisfaction I've wanted all along.

_Kill. Kill. Kill._

Bee-lining right towards the Cornucopia, I push through the colored fog, squinting my eyes just to see. I can't see anyone near me, only the sound of heavy footsteps against the soft ground below, and then I catch a glimpse of someone. The small, blonde-haired boy bobs up and down, his head peeping over the fog occasionally. Seeing him closer to the Cornucopia than I am makes me angry, only making me run quicker.

Much, much quicker.

I disregard anyone else I see or pass by, setting my mind on this boy. Broadening my shoulders, I run up-hill, my legs beginning to aching a little bit. Biting on my lip, I ignore the pain, swiftly grabbing the first weapon my hands come into contact with. It's a machete of some sort, and before I can grip it firmly in my hands, I swipe at the boy.

"Surprise," I utter, watching his body fall to the ground.

On his knees, he flips around, dropping the backpack he had in his hands. I take the machete, raise it in the air, and plunge it deep into his abdomen. The blood pours out, his lavender-colored that is now all torn apart getting stained by the color of crimson. I roll my neck in a circle, cracking it, and drop the machete down to the side. He gasps for air, his body convulsing, and then his body goes silent.

Spinning around, I grab a small pouch, tearing it open with my bare hands. Inside, there are a few throwing-stars of some sort, and I position one in between my fingers. The fog is still somewhat obstructing my view, but I see someone coming, and as I notice who it is, I grin. It's Coleen, her hair all messy and a few sweat droplets already dripping down her cheek. She sees me, her head perking up at the sight of me, and hurries over. She equips herself with the nearest trident, spins around, and we both sit there attentively.

Guess this fog is posing a challenge for quite a few people.

Another small figure approaches, her hands covering her eyes. She's much smaller than that boy from Three, and I take it into my own liberty to kill this one too. Coleen steps forward, as do I, and then we both stop. From behind, a sword is thrust through her stomach, her eyes widening and a scream emitting from her throat. Coleen and I both shoot our heads upward, the sight of Aoife standing behind her startling both of us.

I whip one of the throwing-stars at her, and with one swift dodge, Aoife disappears back into the colorful fog.

The girl's body drops to the ground, the blood from the wound staining her rose suit, the color of it making me smile. Coleen looks away, trying to locate where Aoife went, but I stand there and stare. A few figures, all black because of the fog, shoot past the girl, but I don't bother attacking. I stare at the girl, letting my guard, the sight of it making me feel… making me feel something.

It makes me feel powerful.

"Cassia, let's go!" Coleen hollers, and I equip myself with another star, and before I can try to find another knife, Coleen lets out a grunt.

I look over, drop the pouch of knives, and throw the star at whoever the assailant is. It misses whoever it is, but it distracts them enough for Coleen to back up and stand by me. It's Aoife again, but this time, she has the Twelve boy next to her; Avis. He's equipped with a spear, one that is almost as tall as he is, and they both step forward. I can only imagine all of the supplies that are getting swooped up right now because none of us are paying attention.

They can all die later. For now, it's Aoife's and Avis' turn.

Aoife takes a step forward, another sword – this time a larger one, with a bigger blade – in her hand. Avis follows, but in an instant, another boy darts out of the fog. The boy trips, stumbling forward, holding his dagger out in front of him. He goes right for Avis, a dagger in his hand; a knife that I would prefer use, nearly making a kill that I would like to do as well. Aoife steps to the side, clearly letting Avis take this one, and this gives Coleen and I a chance. Coleen takes it, darting back into the fog, but I only back up a few steps.

I just want to see if Avis can really do it.

The boy from Nine's knife only scrapes Avis' hand, making him grunt and send the spear shaft into Nine's throat. Nine stumbles backwards, dropping the knife, a smear of it getting on his indigo suit. Avis sends his foot into Nine's stomach, making him hunch over, bringing his head into his knees. Avis looks at Aoife, hesitating a little, who only replies with a smirk and a nod, and then Avis does it.

He really does it.

He jabs the spear into Nine's back, the shout coming from him astonishing me. Avis pries it out, pushing the boy's body over with his foot. I walk backwards into the fog some more, and I disappear enough for Aoife and Avis to decide to leave. They grab a few more supplies, ones that I really am not worrying about, and sprint away. Beginning to walk back into the Cornucopia, I arrange some things, figuring that they won't be back anytime.

It's funny; two 'Career' groups and only one Cornucopia.

From the other side, I hear more shouts, seeing a few figures through the fog. The fog seems to be thinning up, the colorfulness of it turning only into a sight of green from the trees surrounding us. I turn around for a moment, attempting to look down the hill, but I can't see much. Grabbing the closest machete to me, I jog towards where the screams are coming from.

This time, it's Fabian and Hollis.

Both of them are all red-faced, clearly out of breath and all worked up. Hollis is hunched over, and just as I approach them, Fabian plunges his knife into Hollis' shoulder. Hollis reacts quickly, swinging his axe upwards into Fabian's arm. They both back away, and then Hollis goes in for another strike, swinging his axe blindly. He manages to slash Fabian's arms some more, but nothing serious, and then once Hollis gets close to him, Fabian finishes it. He sends a punch into Hollis' jaw, stabbing him in the chest where the heart is when Hollis is distracted from that. Fabian pushes Hollis to the ground, and as he turns back around to go to his allies, something else happens.

It all happens too quickly for me to even see it properly.

With a loud grunt and a forceful throw, Coleen launches her trident at Fabian, it going right through him, the prongs coming out of his stomach. His heads shoots upwards, the knife dropping from his hands, immediately dropping to the ground. His body hits the ground with a loud thump, and I sit back, staring at Coleen now.

She can do it, too.

I never expected for this many people to be able to kill.

Aoife and Avis back up a few steps, keeping themselves balanced as they approach the downwards slope behind them. Helios and Bishop come up from behind them, carrying a few backpacks and whatnot. Bishop's jaw drops as she sees the sight, and Helios still has that same expressionless face as usual. They both look at each other, and then at Aoife and Avis, and then they disperse. Aoife leads the pack, running down the hill quickly, them all following her quickly.

I scold myself for not joining in quick enough. I'm never one to pass up action, and this time, I just sat there and gawked at it. I could have done something… not that I'll miss him, but I wish I just joined in on it. To maybe kill Aoife and Avis finally, to give them the pain they deserve. For me to gain some satisfaction from knowing that they can't hurt me.

From behind us, I can hear a few more foot-steps, and I spin around cautiously. I let myself relax, the sight of Orson and Augusta coming calming the desire to kill in me. I killed, but it's not what I wanted; I should have done more. I should have made people feel the pain that I used to feel.

The pain that I can't forget.

"What… What happened?" Augusta asks, the odd string-type weapons dangling to her side.

"What does it look like?" Coleen snaps, walking back into the Cornucopia.

We all go silent, and I figure I might as well help with Coleen.

The Cornucopia might be hard to defend this year, seeing as it is all open. I mean, there's an exposed roof and everything, but we can't do much with that. She hurls some backpacks over the poles that lead to the point at the top, hooking them over it. The backpacks dangle down, and I am tempted to see what's inside, but I get distracted with something.

The victims' bodies still lie there on the ground, their respective colors mixed with crimson.

Augusta walks past Alise's body, looks down at it, and shakes her head. I watch her some more, taking into account her every movement and gesture. She walks to the edge of the flat land, looks down the downward hill, and puts her hand on her hip.

Why is she our ally again? I just don't know.

Aoife can kill, Avis can kill, but I don't know about Helios or Bishop.

I can kill, Coleen can kill, but I don't know about Augusta or Orson.

It's a fair game at this point, but it won't stay that way forever. When I get my hands on the others, then the tides will turn.

I spin around in a circle, taking in all my sights. Besides the Cornucopia and my allies, there's nothing else. Towards the bottom of this hill-area, there's just an open green forest. Beyond that, there seems to be more forests, but different colors. I don't know how that's possible. I shake my head, snapping myself out of the distraction, knowing that I'll get to explore soon enough.

And when I do explore, more blood will be shed.

_Much_ more blood will be shed.

* * *

**Blake Valenzuela  
District Eight Male, 16 Years Old  
Day One: Bloodbath: Part II**

* * *

"_Let the Thirtieth Annual Hunger Games begin!"_

I contemplate turning around and sprinting down the hill, but I decide against it. I need some type of supplies, and the only ones I know of right now are in the Cornucopia. Wasting enough time already, I push through the colored fog, my hands swinging in front of me to push it away. I run, panting heavily as I run towards it, the thought of having to kill someone consuming me.

But, at a time like this, I can't think about it. If I ever encounter that, I'll have to do it. I just have to.

It's not like I couldn't kill anyway, but the actual kill is the part I'm iffy about.

Pushing through the fog some more, I approach the Cornucopia, it seeming completely empty. I use this to advantage, ignoring the pain in my stomach, making myself run faster. I grab the first weapon I come across, not letting myself waste any time picking one I'd be more comfortable with, and the closest backpack. Now, I can go many ways; since the Cornucopia is all open and exposed, I can go out anyway, but I don't know where people are.

I run through the same side I came in, clutching onto my backpack tightly. I grip the knife in my hand, holding it close to me so that no one can disarm me or knock it out of my hand. Blinking a few times from the fog that has gotten in the way of my vision, I begin to rub them. In front of me, there seems to be a figure approaching, but I don't know who it is.

It's either now or never.

It's either I die or kill.

I brace myself, dig my feet into the ground, and put the backpack on my back. I clip the buckles over my chest, hold my knife out, and direct all my energy into my hands. The figure comes closer, and through the colored fog I can see it who it is, and who it is makes me contemplate my choices.

It's Poplin – my own District partner.

Poplin approaches me, her purple suit all torn at the knees. Her hands are a little scratched up as well, probably from trying to get up the hill and failing. Not surprised, really. She's always been weak and stupid like that.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes, knowing that she might want to kill me.

What would District Eight do if she kills me? Not that she could kill me, but what if she could? Would they feel the same way about me if I ended up killing her?

Either way, one of us won't make it out of here. And it won't be me, I can assure you that.

"Blake, please," she says through heavy pants. "I can't do this!"

Poplin comes closer, holding out her hands in front of her. I don't back up or anything, I simply hold my ground. As she gets closer and closer, I gulp, hoping that someone might take her out before I have to.

"Poplin, I'm going to kill you," I say, hoping that my words will stop her.

But they don't.

I can't waste any more time. I can't let her get to close and not do anything; she'll think we're allies or that I want to help her. I can't help anyone who's not me anymore… it's all about me, now.

"Blake, please! Help me!" She shouts, finally getting close enough where she can put her hands on me.

As soon as her hands touch me, I react, sinking the knife into her stomach. Her facial features twitch a little bit, her jaw gaping. She looks down at the knife in her stomach, removes her hand from me, and clutches onto the wound. She begins to weep – a soft whimper with only a few tears dripping down her face. She drops to her knees, the blood beginning to pour out onto her suit.

Poplin's body slumps to the side, and she tries to hold herself up with her arm, but she can't. She falls, and I look away, already seeing enough. I leave the knife in her, knowing that there goes my only weapon. I continue to sprint down the hill, not looking back at all.

"Goodbye, Pooplin," I jester, trying to add levity to the moment for myself. "It had to happen."

Even though I feel like I should feel something, I don't. I don't feel anything about killing her.

As my feet touch the flat plain now, I go into a sprint immediately, going right into the green forest. I stop, looking around at my surroundings, and listen carefully. I hear running water from somewhere, and that's where I have to go. I don't have a weapon, and right now, I don't want to waste any time looking through my backpack to see what's in there.

Water first, look later.

I slow down a little bit, letting myself catch my breath. There's no fog here, only a forest. There's occasional flowers and plants near the trunks of the trees, but I can't tell the difference from poisonous or not, and I'd rather not risk it. I'm sure it'd be easy to figure out, but I want water first.

Following the sound of the running water, I walk through several trees, placing my hand on one to have a little rest. The sound seems to be louder over here, and as I go to the other side of the tree, I see it.

But the water isn't the only thing.

There's also the boy from Eleven.

Behind him, there's a faint color on the ground of some of the colored fog we dealt with earlier in the shape of his foot, leading up to him. I haven't been paying much to that, but now thinking about it, I should; someone could easily track me or find me. Putting that thought aside, I deal with what's on my hands right now – this boy.

He's dressed in a beige colored suit, some of it being darker from the water he's kneeling in. He doesn't know I'm here, and from the looks of it, he has nothing with him. I can probably reason with him, but I can't trust him. He'd kill me if he had the chance, just like Poplin would have attempted to do.

I can't trust anyone in these Games, it seems.

Tightening the backpack on me, I brace myself to pounce at the boy, forgetting that I have no weapon. Just as I launch myself at him, I just remember that I have no weapon, and regret the decision immediately. Before I'm about to land on the boy, he hears me, and tries to sprint forward. We land in the water, the glint of metal flying to the side.

It's a knife.

The boy gets me off of him quickly, sending a punch right into my stomach. I flip my body over, beginning to crawl through the shallow water towards the knife. I'm not sure where it went in the water, but it's worth a try. I feel him trying to grab my feet, and I send a few kicks behind me, the grip of his hands loosening.

I swish my hands under the water, looking for the knife, and then I come across it. By accident, I grab the blade of it, and I yelp out in pain a little. It didn't cut me too deep, but I know my own stupidity is only making things harder. I flip the knife around, sit upwards in the water, and then assess what the boy is doing.

He's still there, his face all bloody from his nose, and once he sees the knife, he gets startled. I stand up quickly, grab onto his ankle, and both of us drop to the ground. He lets out another grunt, trying to kick me like I did to him. Quickly, I sink the knife into the back of his thigh, and after he kicks one more time, I let go.

His boot hits me right in the nose too, and I check to see if it's bleeding, and it is. Great, now my hand is bleeding and so is my nose. I wipe away the blood, looking back at him, and see that he's already against a tree. He's standing, about to pull the knife out of the back of thigh, but he can't. As he tries to take it out, he cries out in pain, but he still goes at it. He tries a few more times, and then once he sees I'm back on my feet, he begins to limp away.

Now, I'm completely out of breath and have no more energy.

I slide back down into the water, letting it soak my entire body. The gray suit I'm in becomes darker, the water soaking it completely. I wash my hands and face, drinking some of it in the process. Luckily, I still have the backpack, and now, I have water. After removing the backpack from my back, I open it, hoping that the water didn't ruin anything in it.

The first thing I see inside of the backpack is a knife.

Well, that's great. That's fucking great.

Only if I opened the backpack earlier, then maybe I wouldn't be sitting here right now, all beat up.

There's a container of some food and an empty canteen in it, and that's it. I lay my head back in the water, letting it soak my hair too, and I chuckle a little. I chuckle at my stupidity; the way I didn't open my backpack, the way I cut myself on the knife, the way I'm just sitting here right now.

But, what I don't laugh at is how I killed Poplin. I don't want to do anything about that.

It had to happen, and in a way, I helped her. If the Careers got to her, then she would have been in much more pain and probably died much more slowly. So, by me killing her, I helped her out.

I helped District Eight, too. Now, they won't have to wait for her to die.

We all knew it was coming, didn't we?

Why not face reality sooner?

* * *

**Jaggary Fowl  
District Ten Male, 14 Years Old  
Day One: Afternoon**

* * *

_Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! _

Six cannons.

Six dead tributes. Two of which were my allies.

And I couldn't really do anything about it.

Their presence kept me company. I just listened to them talk, sometimes about the most pointless things and sometimes about interesting things. They talked about their lives, their families, their friends.

And now what?

I have no one. I feel lonesome, knowing that as much as I want them back, they won't be. I expected them to not do well, but I never thought that they'd die in the Bloodbath. I just wish there was some heads-up that they'd die in the Bloodbath.

But, it's not like my parents are here.

Where they have some type of sixth-sense, where they know things that no one else could know. They always knew what was going to happen, always leading me in the right direction. If they were here, maybe they'd be able to have some spiritual connection to my allies.

They do things like that all the time. Being able to talk to the dead, something that most people would kill to do.

Or, at least they could have given me some heads-up. Isn't that' a seer's job? To predict the future? I just wish I knew this would happen before-hand.

But, here I am. All alone now.

I've never felt so guilty before. It's just that I spent so much time, making sure that they would be the good allies, and then they just died. I might have been better off with Astrid, or Mauer, or even Fawn. There were tons of others I could have dealt with, but no.

They weren't just allies after a while. They were a type of a friend that I didn't have back in District Ten. Back there, my reputation of being the seers' son was kind of off-putting for most people. They were either intimidated, frightened, or they simply ridiculed my family. The only person who saw through it all was Aries.

He was different than all of the rest. I remember the time that Aries used to follow me around, and despite every effort to get away from him, he always came back. It was interesting that he always came back, no matter what. I began to grow fond of him, and soon enough, I realized that he was a really good friend. One that I would want to be a part of my life for a long time.

I can't say the same anymore, though.

With him, I felt accepted. It's not that I didn't feel that way in District Ten, but things were different with every person. They all had a different outlook on my family, either accepting us or criticizing us. We were just making a living, weren't we? Like everyone is trying to do nowadays?

I don't really miss home much, but I felt comfortable in District Ten. It was familiar, and I knew where everything was. Now that I'm in this lime-colored area of the forest, I know nothing. I don't know who will pop up here, where water or food will be, or where I should sleep.

I just feel useless. Something I'm not used to.

The thoughts of District Ten echo in my mind, the images of my old home and the barns along the roads just making me miss home more. In District Ten, I liked my life, enjoying every day of it. The people weren't too bad, especially the ones that were the clients of my parents. Smirking a little bit, I remember the noisiness of the animals and how bad they stunk. It's things like that I'll always be attached.

I realize that I should let it go, but I can't.

Just like my allies. I should let them go… but I can't. Their murderers are somewhere out there, so how can I forgive them? How could I just get over their deaths?

I can't just drop something like this. The people who murdered my allies are out there somewhere, running around, probably without a thought in the world. They killed my ally, so how they feel if I killed their ally?

I know I couldn't, but it's just the point. They deserve to be suffering from the same things I am; a death of an ally. I don't know who killed Pika or Joseph exactly, but I can assume it's the Careers. It's one of the Careers, but from which Pack, I don't care.

It doesn't matter to me who killed them, it just matters that they killed them.

If they are so capable of killing Pika and Joseph, can't they kill me? Won't I be an easy target for them, too? I know I shouldn't think like this, but I can't help.

I never experienced anything like this.

I don't know how to deal with any of it.

Continuing to walk through the trees, I push the branches to the side and kick the stray leaves on the ground. Everything is lime; the trees, the grass, the dirt. All of it. At the bottom of the Cornucopia, it was all green, and then it began changing colors.

Once I reached the edge of the green-area, there was another hill. This time, it was down-hill, and at the bottom of it, there was just a small patch of open grass. After running past that, I was back at another area of forest, this time a different color.

I see a pattern now.

There's a certain area, and then a hill. At the bottom of the hill, there's a stretch of grass, and level with that grass is another forest-type-area. Then it repeats. Hill, stretch, forest. Hill, stretch, forest.

What could it all mean, though? Is there a bottom? Was the top the Cornucopia?

_Crack._

I spin around, gripping the small blade I managed to pick up close to my chest. The sun's still high in the sky, so I can see everything, but not behind some trees. I walk side-ways to the nearest tree and I slowly climb up it, making sure not to make any extra noises. It takes me a few moments, but once I get up on the tree, I can see a lot more.

I can see two figures now.

They're both girls, and as they get closer, I can see that it's the girl from Eleven and Astrid, my District partner. I don't recall them ever allying, but from the looks of it, Astrid is injured. The two of them are walking together, with Astrid holding onto the wrist and Averil just guarding the area.

What makes her deserve an ally?

Why is she allowed to have one, while I'm not?

Averil and Astrid were never supposed to be allies, anyway. Averil probably just chose to help her, and that's why I don't like them allying. Astrid doesn't deserve the help. Why doesn't Averil realize that she should've just left her to die?

Averil's just wasting her on time.

I can say the same about my own allies – that I was wasting my own time – with them being dead and all now. But, I can't. Our alliance was different; we were helping each other. Averil is just there to help Astrid.

Astrid was always the dependent type. During the Capitol, she'd always hang around the mentors, asking questions and just wanting someone to talk to. I never wanted to play any games with her, not like I would with everyone else; I just didn't want to be bothered. She was foolish enough on her own.

She made it past the Bloodbath, though, and my allies didn't. So, really, how foolish is she?

They get closer, not really paying much attention to the surrounding area. Not many tributes came this way, except for the girl from Twelve some time before. She ran right through it, not stopping for any water or fruit. Averil and Astrid are walking much slower, and I hold onto the tree trunk, trying to see more of the area.

They turn to the right, going a completely different way now. They both have a backpack, with Averil having some curved weapon in her hand, looking like it's made of a wood with some metal on it.

Leaning backwards, I sit on the tree branch, letting my legs dangle off of it. I'm just too tired to go anywhere else now, and as much as I think I should leave, I don't want to. There's no point anymore.

But, at the same time, there is. There is a point for me to continue on in these Games.

For Pika's and Joseph's sake. To avenge their deaths.

I can't let their deaths go down in vain. They meant something to me, and in return, it's the least I can do. I just have to figure out something that would allow me to get revenge.

There has to be something I can do. And killing their murderers is completely out of the question.

Or, maybe I'm just over-thinking it. Maybe, I should just get over it, since I realize that it's a part of the Games. There death would have been inevitable, anyway, if I wanted to win.

But, I wasn't ready for it.

I don't know when I would have been ready for it.

All I want is for them to come back.

For me to have company once again.

* * *

**Alecto Marcial  
District Five Female, 17 Years Old  
Day One: Night**

* * *

_You're okay, Alecto. There's no one there anymore._

Pushing myself even further into the bushes, I keep my senses on high alert, knowing that whoever was out there may soon be back. There was shouting, heavy footsteps, and the sounds of something falling out of a backpack. I don't know who it could be.

If it was the Careers, then I am lucky. If it were another tribute, I am lucky, too. But, I know who's a competitor at this point. I have to be wary of all competition, not just the Careers anymore.

In retrospect, I guess I should have allied. It's not as easy, though, as my mentors made it seem. I saw some alliances form – like the Careers, and then Devan and Fausten – but I didn't know how to go about it myself. It's not that I'm completely dependent and useless; it's just that, having an ally would be helpful. Someone to have by your side, just to know that you're not alone in the Games.

Someone that you could ask for help if you needed it. Without anyone, I am truly on my own.

Haven't I always been, though? On my own?

Besides, having an allying just complicates things. You would reach a certain point, and then once the time has come, you would have to leave. Or, you'd have to betray one another. I'm not too sure I would have the right mindset to simply betray someone like that.

I can't say the same about everyone, though. We're all different people, all with different perspectives on killing.

Everyone is capable of killing, but whether or not they can physically or mentally do it is questionable. It's different with each person. With me, I could. I could kill if I had to, but I wouldn't actively seek violence. It's just not something I've been raised to do or have grown to become.

People kill because of the moment. Sometimes, killing is a spur of the moment type of action, but for others, it's because they do it on purpose. Like the Careers, some kill for the thrill or for the satisfaction. Others do it to protect themselves. There has to be more to it for some people, doesn't there?

What would really push someone to murder? To kill someone? There's always reasoning behind it.

I might talk about all of this, but when it comes down to it, I don't know if I could do it. Under the right circumstances, perhaps I could, but I keep coming back to the idea that I couldn't.

I'm not here to murder.

I'm here to survive.

As a child, the Hunger Games terrified me. They made me weep at night, knowing that one day, it could be me. It could be in that arena, running for my life. Admittedly, I have become more tolerant of the Games, but I still do not endorse them. They're just not fair; for anyone, really. Although I've watched previous Games, the gore and brutality of it still comes as a shock to me.

Why would the Capitol ever want something like that?

Why do they go to the trouble every year to make extravagant arenas? Aren't they just wasting money and supplies that they could, I don't know, give to the Districts?

I just don't see what they're trying to prove. Well, I do, but I don't _really_ understand it.

As much as I'd love to think about it, I can't. I can't worry about trivial things like that right now. I'm here in the arena, not studying in some library or sitting alone in my room. There's no time to dwell or reflect on such things anymore. And, really, I don't know if there will ever be another time for that.

There's the possibility that I won't make it out of here.

That I will die in this arena, with twenty-two other tributes. All of whom I have no connection to.

All of whom are out to survive for themselves, too. I'm not the only one who wants to win. I was never the only one.

Leaning my head back against the tree, I try to close my eyes, but there's a certain sound that's making me stop. When I reached the magenta colored area, I made sure no one was following me. If I heard something, I went the other way, and then it was nighttime. The sounds get louder and louder, the sound of someone panting sounding like it's only a few feet away.

Grabbing the backpack and my hammer, I stand up, pushing myself against the tree. I look around the bend, trying to see through the dimly-lit area, not seeing anything. There is something somewhat far away, though, but I don't know what it is. I keep my eye on that, and once I realize that it's moving, I run.

I run as fast as I can.

I don't look back. I just run.

The Careers – or at least, I thought were one of the Careers – already came this way. Why would they come back? Shouldn't they be sleeping at this time? Unless it's Aoife's Pack. I know that Coleen's pack took over the Cornucopia, but that'll probably change soon.

Why are they out hunting so soon? Were the six Bloodbath deaths not enough?

The sound of the person's footsteps gets louder, the pounding of them against the ground sounding more forceful. I run even quicker, trying to get away from whoever it is. I squint my eyes, straining my muscles all over my body just to escape whoever is coming. I can't get in a fight this early on. I'm not ready yet.

Suddenly, there's a large force that falls on top of me, nearly bringing me down with them.

It all happens so quickly.

Too quickly for me to perceive it all.

Instinctively, I lash out my arm, the hammer comes into their body, but what body part I don't know. Pulling my arm back, there's a loud thud, and the sound of someone groaning. It's a female, definitely, by the sounds of the whimpers following of it. They thrash their legs out, kicking me in the ankle, making me topple over. Catching myself, I grab onto the nearest tree, trying to see what's going on now.

Then, it all stops.

The breathing, the thrashing, the movement. It all stops.

Although I can't see too well, there's still some sunlight from the sun-setting. I'm still trying to process everything that just happened, and as I begin to calm down, I see who it is. The brown hair… the brown eyes… the tanned skin.

It's Rionach.

No… No. It can't be.

Not the girl who I was supposed to be allies with. The girl who went out of her way to reject an offer made by our mentors. The girl that would probably have betrayed me in the arena. The girl who would have killed me if she got the chance.

Rionach's head is smashed against the rock, blood pouring out of the place where the hammer hit her still. It's running down the side of the rock, forming a pool at the base of it. I fall back, scrambling to get back up and balance myself. I don't have the energy, though, and just sit there.

I just sit there and stare.

Stare at the murder… the murder that I did.

But, I didn't mean it, did I? No, no. I didn't. She got in my way, and it were my instincts that made me lash out my arm. I didn't do anything, no. I didn't. It was the rock.

I simply pushed her down.

She fell on the rock.

I didn't kill her.

I could never kill.

But… what if I did? What if this is my fault?

What if I just killed her? Then what?

_I don't believe it. I could never kill, could I? _

_It isn't like me._

* * *

_**District Three, Pika Charging – Placed 24**__**th**_

_**District Eight, Poplin Silvers – Placed 23**__**rd**_

_**District Seven, Alise Cambrie – Placed 22**__**nd**_

_**District Nine, Joseph Echemik – Placed 21**__**st**_

_**District Seven, Hollis Oleander – Placed 20**__**th**_

_**District One, Fabian Verdite – Placed 19**__**th**_

_**District Six, Rionach Hartley – Placed 18**__**th**_

* * *

**Tributes Remaining:  
Careers(1): **Aoife Cosette (D1: 18: 1 Kill), Helios Villard (D2: 18: 0 Kills), Bishop Grande (D3: 18: 0 Kills), Avis Lowery (D12: 17: 1 Kill)**  
Careers(2): **Coleen Morisette (D4: 18: 1 Kill), Orson Nautica (D4: 17: 0 Kills), Cassiopeia Bryony (D2: 17: 1 Kill), Augusta Daveigh (D9: 17: 0 Kills)**  
Alliance 1: **Devan Halloway (D5: 17: 0 Kills), Fausten Fraser (D6: 18: 0 Kills)**  
Loners: **Alecto Marcial (D5: 17: 1 Kill), Blake Valenzuela (D8: 16: 1 Kill), Jaggary Fowl (D10: 14: 0 Kills), Astrid Pallon (D10: 15: 0 Kills), Mauer Allister (D11: 17: 0 Kills), Averil Disoto (D11: 15: 0 Kills), Fawn Brett (D12: 18: 0 Kills)

* * *

**Author's Note:**

There's the Bloodbath! And Day One (Afternoon and Night, too.) I really don't have much to say about anything, but one thing that I will be doing are those 'obituary-type-things'. You know, where the author (me) says what they thought of the character/why I killed them/etc.?

I don't know what to call these things.

**Pika Charging:** To be honest, he was always a Bloodbath to me, but I did see purpose in him. I used to him bring out other characters (Bishop, his allies Joseph and Jaggary), so he wasn't sent in vain. He was stereotypical, sure, but every story could use at least one of them, and he fit the bill. I couldn't really see anything else to do with him in the Games, so the only choice for him – in my mind – was the Bloodbath.

**Poplin Silvers:** Nearly the same thing as Pika. She was always a Bloodbath to me, but she was used to bring out other characters and to further develop in them (Blake, Alise). Basically, Pika and her were on the same path, which unfortunately led to the Bloodbath.

**Alise Cambrie:** Don't get me wrong, Olive, I had a great time writing for her. Along with Pika and Alise, she served her own purpose for the story. But, how far could she have gone? She was a Bloodbath once I received her too, but it wasn't because I disliked her, it was just realistic. Writing her was quite challenging, though, since it made me dive into the mindset of a mentally underdeveloped and juvenile child.

**Joseph Echemik:** At first, I didn't put him as a Bloodbath. He would have at least made it two or three more days, but I took his alliance into account. I wanted Jaggary to survive, and in order to do what I had planned, his whole alliance had to die. And, Joseph was in on at that alliance, so naturally, he had to die in order to fulfill the plot.

**Hollis Oleander: **Never planned on him dying in the Bloodbath, really. Or anywhere near Day One, for that matter, but after some thought and some feedback, I figured I should kill him. It wasn't in vain, but it isn't what I completely what I wanted either; I'll just have to deal with it. I liked him for what he was, even though he faded away and only became another ally to the group after a while. Nothing special.

**Fabian Verdite:** I really don't have much to say about him (mostly because I never received his form, so he was destined for the Bloodbath regardless…) Either way, I think he did do something for the Bloodbath, so it wasn't completely random and out-of-place.

**Rionach Hartley: **Another formless tribute. I did what I could, and initially, I had her placing further. But, yeah, things happen and people die.

*Questions*

_Was who died who you expected? If not, who did you expect to die?_

_What are your thoughts on what was revealed of the arena?_

Personal question time: Team Peeta or Team Gale? Or are you Team Katniss? That is the real question.


	15. Arena: Day Two

w w w. riotofcolorhg. blogspot. c o m

w w w. halloffamethg. blogspot. c o m

* * *

**Aoife Cosette  
District One Female, 18 Years Old  
Day Two: Morning**

* * *

"So, what is one thing we all learned from the Bloodbath?"

Tapping my foot, I await a response, knowing that none of them will open their mouths. They're all too scared, all too intimidated by me. It's a great feeling to know that they'll all squirm under your fingers, but at a time like this, I want them to respond. I want them to respond just so I can shoot them down.

They all messed up. Big time.

Maybe not so much Avis, but Helios and Bishop… remind me why they're here again?

I really don't know. I really, _really _don't know.

"Avis? Helios? Bishop?" I spit, putting my hands on my hips. "Anyone?"

Helios takes a step forward, and I roll my eyes, only imaging what stuck-up, over-the-top response will leave his mouth. He's always one to entertain me one way or another. Helios glances at Bishop – his little cupcake – and then looks back at me.

"Well, for one," he begins, playing with the cuff of his suit. "I learned that we should have been more organized."

"I really don't care what you learned," I quip, narrowing my eyes. "It was rhetorical."

Although Helios has a point, I won't give him the satisfaction. Not to him of all people, anyway; he doesn't deserve any ego-boosters, especially not on live television. Not that we're in the Games, I have to treat them differently. Over the past few days, I've become a better leader, learning to put my foot down when they misbehave.

And they misbehaved greatly in the Bloodbath.

"What about you, Bishop? Anything you want to say? Or, are you just going to talk about me behind my back to Helios later?" I snap, the anger in my voice getting worse. I really cannot deal with any of them right now.

"I was just…," Bishop utters, looking down at the ground. "What…. What is your problem?"

Ignoring her idiotic remark and asinine question, I look to Avis, who actually did something. He made a kill, probably after being pressured by me into doing so. He's the only one I have any faith in out of this whole group; Helios is a pretty-boy, and Bishop, she's just a porcelain doll.

But, I can't give Avis that satisfaction. He doesn't deserve to know that he's somewhat useful.

"Just drop it," he replies brusquely. "Seriously."

Inhaling slowly, I try to calm myself down, pushing down all the anger I have in me. One thing that this group needs is discipline, where they need to know when they are allowed to talk back to me. I do enjoy when someone challenges my authority or me as a person, but with them, no.

They have nothing on me. None of them do.

"What about you Fabian?" I ask, tilting my head. "Oh, wait. He's dead."

Pausing for a moment, I look at the reactions on all of their faces; they deserve every drop of guilt and blame they have. They did it, not me. I already made one kill, which I wasn't too happy about doing, while they just stood there. I was busy, really, while they were not. I had other things to take care of, while they just watched Fabian fighting.

They're all so useless.

"Whose fault is that, again?" I ask, my words saturated with sarcasm. "Glad we're on the same page, everyone."

Turning back around, I roll my eyes again, seeing all of the pitiable supplies we have. We all managed to grab some stuff – even I did, knowing that they would get nothing – but still, it's not too much. A few backpacks, a few extra weapons, and a few more random things. If I could applaud them for doing one thing right, it'd be for getting supplies. These will last us a few days, but once we run out, that's it.

It's not like we can just go back to the Cornucopia and get what we need. Or… can we?

I think we can.

"Guess what time it is?" I bellow, watching all of them flinch. "It's time to get back what is rightfully ours."

"Our freedom," Avis jesters, making Helios and Bishop chuckle. "Or is that too much to ask?"

"Enough from you today, Twelve," I snap, trying to bring back up my mood after his disrespectful comments. "You're getting on my last nerve."

He's really not, but he needs to be put in line. He has to learn to keep his mouth shut, to not talk over me, or to not disrespect me. If not, I'll give him a lesson. And we all know what that means. A little betrayal never hurt anyone, did it?

It's just something that has to be done.

"Let me start over," I say, staring right at Avis. "We shall take back the Cornucopia."

"As if," Avis murmurs, looking over to Bishop as she whispers something to Helios. "How do you plan to do that, Master?"

"Thank you for asking, Avis," I reply sarcastically, sauntering over towards them. "We'll go there at night, but it won't be an attack. I don't need anymore… casualties."

_Even if I want them dead right now, I need them, _I remind myself. _They do serve some purpose._

"Is that it? How do you plan on scaring them away?" Bishop speaks up, and I am taken by surprise. "I just don't see it'll work."

"Now, if I may continue," I say, walking over to Bishop, beginning to play with the strands of her hair. "Augusta's weak, she's just a bystander in this all. Cassiopeia will be easy to lure away, Orson will cling to Coleen like the lap-dog he is, and Coleen…"

I pause for a moment, letting go of Bishop's hair. Wrapping my hand around Helios' waist, I lean my head on his shoulder, watching Avis as he gawks at me. I chuckle to myself, knowing that as much as I want this to work, it probably won't. Not with this alliance, if you even want to call it that.

"Coleen will come after me," I deadpan, a smile forming on my face. "I'll take care of her."

"I still don't see a plan," Avis cuts in, leaning himself against the copper tree, the color of it blending in with his suit. "What are we actually going to do?"

"Figure it out yourselves," I quip, pointing my finger at him. "I made the idea, now you guys figure out what you want to do. It won't be much, and I'll probably have to carry us on my shoulders, but what's new?"

I'm losing interest in this all so quickly.

I came up with the idea. It might not be much, but it's something.

Why can't they do something on their own for once?

Although I've gotten over my whole qualm about killing, I'm seriously contemplating about just pitting them against each other. Killing was never in my agenda – it ruins my whole image – but once that girl got in my way, I had to. I was right in front of Coleen, and I can't let her hold that leverage over me. I am a killer now, even if it ruins my image. But, with my so-called allies, I just don't care.

If they are pitted against each other, let it be. They're useless and lazy as it is; they can't even come up with the simple components to my plan. How hard could it really be?

If they don't start picking up the slack, we'll have a problem. A serious problem.

I will kill every single one of them myself if I have to.

Every. Single. One.

All by the hands of me.

I'm not afraid to do it, either. I am prepared to do anything that I have to do in order to make myself known. To show everyone that I'm here to win, not to go down with this useless alliance. I'm not like the rest.

I'm better than that.

I'm better than_ them. _

* * *

**Mauer Allister  
District Eleven Male, 17 Years Old  
Day Two: Afternoon**

* * *

No cannons today yet.

And I don't know if I should take that as a good or bad sign.

I'm hoping it's a good sign, since I don't need to deal with anymore fighting. Not after the boy from Eight, Blake, felt the need to stab me in the thigh yesterday. It's getting better, even if I can't run yet, but I can still move it. It didn't cut too deep, but it took long enough to get out.

All the blood just made it all worse. And the bruises.

I did some damage to him too, which was kind of surprising. I didn't know I had it in me, the will to survive. The fight needed to save my own life. The adrenaline got to me, the spur of the moment making me do the things I did. I just didn't know what to do.

He was going to kill me.

He was going to kill me on the first.

I couldn't let that happen, could I? Of course not.

Stretching out my leg, I raise it a little, bring it back down. I've been trying to work with it ever since it happened yesterday, and even though it's getting better, it hurts like crazy. For a few moments, I hoped that maybe a sponsor would see me in this pain, and send me some painkillers or some medication right away. I don't even have any bandages to wrap around it, so I had to cut my suit with the own knife that was plunged into my leg to stop it from bleeding.

Resourceful, aren't I?

Even if I am, I just need sponsors. I don't even think I have any sponsors, anyway. Maybe after that fight with Blake I might, but chances are, I don't. The sponsors are probably flooding the Careers with gifts.

That's how it usually works.

They favor the privileged.

"You can do it, Mauer," I say to myself, trying to motivate myself to stand up all the way. I've been sitting underneath this magenta tree for a while now, and luckily, I haven't seen anyone come this way.

I'm deep in this section of the forest, even though they aren't too big. I contemplated to keep moving on, but as of now, I can't. Not with my leg and all; I just have to wait for it to heal some more, and then I will keep moving.

Finally being able to stand up, I smirk, and for a moment, I feel fine. Then, the aching pain comes back, but I push through it. If I let this pain get to me, then there's no chance that I'll go any further. I can't give up this easily.

Not over something like this.

Walking over towards the area where I remember the last water source was, I limp a little, just smirking at myself some more. At least I can forgive myself for this and not want to give up. I shouldn't have stopped and drank water from that pond, anyway; it was too risky, but I was so thirsty.

I regret that decision now.

Walking around the tree, I freeze for a moment, stopping myself from breathing and moving. It's Blake, drinking from the water source that I found after dealing with him. It can't be.

Why is he back?

Backing up slowly, I try to get away as silently as possible, the pain in my leg only getting worse at the sight of him. Once was enough, but twice? I can't do it twice. No one could.

Turning my back, I press my hand against the tree, swinging my leg over the bush in front of me. The sound of someone getting up stops me, and I freeze again, the pain in my leg getting worse.

"Oh," I hear him say, the splashing of water stopping. "Oh."

Glancing over my shoulder, I see him walking towards me, the anger in his eyes making me want to get away more quickly. Forcing myself over the bush, the pain in my leg is getting unbearable now, but I push through it. I have to push through it.

"I wasn't done with you," Blake shouts, grabbing onto the back of my collar. "I don't really mean any of this… it's just, I have to do it."

Blake pulls me back, my leg twisting in an awkward way, the pain shooting throughout my body. He's hovering over me, his head only a few inches above mine, and I send my head upwards. With all my force, I knock my head into his, making him recoil a little bit.

Blake steps back, and I spin around, still on my knees. He comes at me at full force, slipping the knife out of his back part of his belt, holding it out in front of him. Looking at his whole body quickly, I see that his hand is cut somehow, a bandage wrapped around it.

I guess he has sponsors.

I can't fight with him like that again. My leg, my bruises, and now with this headache from bashing my head against his, I can't. I'd love to distract him somehow, but I have nothing. Using any weapon on him won't work, nor would running.

What do I do?

Taking advantage of me gawking at him, Blake tackles me, bringing me down with him. He already has his knife out, a thin line of blood dribbling down my cheek. It doesn't hurt as much as my leg and I bite down on my tongue, feeling all of the pain together at once.

Blake pins down my arms, a feeling of helplessness overcoming me. Just sitting here, like a caged animal, not being able to move. Only if my leg was still useable, I'd thrash out or kick or something, but I can't. I can't do anything anymore.

"I…," Blake starts, silencing himself after.

"You don't have to do this," I say, my breaths bated.

Blake shakes his head, bringing the knife to my throat. I feel the cold metal on my throat, not feeling any pain or blood in that area just yet. Blake stares at me, looking right down into my eyes. He squints for a moment, and I wish I could know about what he's thinking.

What could he be thinking?

He's about to kill me… he's about to kill me, just like he tried to do yesterday.

Blake's won, hasn't he?

Theoretically, he has. He's just playing the Game like the Capitol wants him to. He's killing, he's surviving, he's fighting. He's doing it all, but what for?

What's the purpose?

"Don't worry," Blake whispers into my ear, his breath warm. "Some of us are just more fit for the Games."

_And more fit he is._

_Maybe this was my fate, after all._

_Dying at the hands of a tribute._

_Of… of an animal._

* * *

**Astrid Pallon  
District Ten Female, 15 Years Old  
Day Two: Night **

* * *

"You're okay now," Averil says, finish wrapping up my wrist. "Just don't put too much pressure on it."

Standing up, I roll my wrist a bit, the aching pain making me stop. I try not to look like I'm in pain, since I don't want Averil to worry about me. I don't want to be a burden on her, especially when she's not in the best of shape herself, especially not after she helped pick me up and got away from the Cornucopia together.

"Thank you," I murmur, holding onto my wrist. "I really appreciate it."

Going for the backpack with my hurt wrist, I pull it back, knowing that I can't use that now. I have to use the hand I'm not too coordinated with, which is my left hand. I can't use my right hand anymore, not until it's healed. Averil did what she could do, and I can't be ungrateful.

If she didn't come and help me, someone would have killed me. I'm still not even sure what happened at the Bloodbath, all I remember is tripping over some box and landing on my wrist. Averil didn't even really come and save me, she just saw me. She was rummaging through a few backpacks next to me, and once she saw me, she helped me up.

She risked her life for me, and that's why I will be forever grateful of her.

I would have been dead by now.

Looking back at Averil, I see her looking off into the distance, not sure if she hears something or not. Every minute I just stand around, I feel even worse about the whole situation; I just feel like I owe her something. I can't really give her anything physically or materialistic, but more-so the sense of having an ally now. Although most alliances were formed in the Capitol, I guess this one is just meant to be.

With Averil, I feel better. About myself, about my chances, and about where I'll go. If she wasn't here, everything would be different, so I'll take her being there to save me as some sign. Some sign that means that maybe – just maybe – I'll be safe.

That I might actually have a shot to do well in these Games.

"You can stay, if you want," Averil offers, her back facing me. "We could ally, or something."

"I don't want to be a burden," I reply, holding out my wrist for evidence. "You've already done enough for me."

"No, no," Averil says, turning around, a smile on her face. "We'll wait it out for a day or two, and then we'll see what we should do then."

I nod, gesturing that I want to stay. Although I don't know her much, I want to stay. Having someone next to you – someone who has protected me before, and by the looks of it, actually cares – will make it easier. She'll keep me company, and as much as I didn't want to make any friends, I can't help it.

Averil is just a great person.

"We should get some rest now," Averil whispers, putting out the flame of the small match she had lit, the color of magenta surrounding us disappearing. "Make sure you don't slit my throat in my sleep."

"I'll try not to," I joke, resting my head on top of my hands.

Closing my eyes, I try to fall asleep, knowing that Averil is right beside me. I don't have to worry now, since she's there and all. Whether or not we're technically allies, I don't know. I would like us to be, but I can't really ask it right now; she's already helped me too much, and if I ask her, I might seem too needy.

I don't her to think I'm a hand-full. Really, I'm not, I just had a slip-up in the arena.

Rolling to my side, I see Averil not sleeping either, our eyes looking right into each other. She smiles, her boomerang clutched tightly to her chest.

"Can't sleep?" Averil whispers, leaning her head on her hand now.

"Nope," I reply. "Not tired."

"Neither am I," Averil says back, a half-smile on her face. "Want to talk until we fall asleep?"

"About?" I ask, being more than willing to talk about anything. Talking has always helped me fall asleep or drift off.

"Don't know. Tell me something that no one knows about yourself," she offers, her eyebrow raised. Her features seem so much more defined under the moonlight.

"I'm an open book," I joke, knowing that it's true. "Everyone seems to know everything before I tell them."

Averil turns back over, beginning to play with a stick lying on the ground. She draws designs on the ground, just random swirls and lines all over the place. She begins to draw a picture with the stick, making two stick-figure people, with faces and clothes and all.

"I highly doubt that," she murmurs, still looking down at her artwork. "All I know is that you have an injured wrist, are too guilty to stay with me, and that you're a friendly person. Anything else I should know?"

I shrug, chuckling quietly at her. "That's about it."

"I'm sure it is," she says, turning back towards me. "Are you tired yet?"

Before getting to answer, we both hear a noise, both of us looking up at the same time. We're both startled, and instinctively, I grip my wrist and push myself up against the tree. Averil kneels down, the boomerang in her hand, prepared to climb up the tree.

But, if she goes, I can't follow. It'd be too painful for me.

"We have to go," Averil whispers, frantically looking around. "We can't stay here."

"I… I can't," I reply, holding my arm up. "I can't."

Averil shakes her head, the sounds of voices and foot-steps sounding as if they're only a few feet away. She quickly pulls the backpack over her shoulders, gripping onto her boomerang more tightly. I simply stand back, with my pouch already slung over my shoulder, no weapon in my hand.

It's not my fault. I would help if I could, but at a time like this, I can't.

Which is only bringing us down. We could have been off already, escaping whoever is coming towards us now. If I wasn't here, Averil could have escaped. She could have been gone.

Averil could have been safe.

And now, she's stuck with me. The girl with no weapon, an injured wrist, and no physical skills. See? I'm just the burden that I thought I would be for her.

"Averil," I utter, grapping her arm with my good hand. "You have to go."

"What about you?" Averil asks back without a pause. "You have to come."

Averil's already pushed back against the tree, the boomerang now clipped around some wristlet she got from her backpack. Her hands are free, and I know that she's more than prepared to leave. She even realizes that I'm a burden to her, that I am only holding her back.

I'm now putting both of our lives at risk.

"Over here!" A voice shouts, and I know it's a female. The voice sounds familiar from the interviews, but I don't know who it is exactly.

Averil's eyes widen, and she pushes herself up the tree a little, still frantically looking around. I wave my hand, gesturing for her to go up the tree, and I follow her. I know it's going to be in vain; I can't do anything. As Averil is climbing up the tree, I take a moment to look around, trying to see if they're getting closer.

As Averil's already up the tree, I follow her, standing on the rock at the bottom of it. Averil holds out her hand, and I grab it with my good hand, trying to pull myself up. With my bad hand, I try to grab a branch, but the pain is unbearable.

It's too painful.

"I can't," I whisper, my voice panicky. "Please-"

"Do it!" The same female voice shouts, and I react too late.

My words are cut short. I fall back, a pain in my back now completely distracting me from my wrist. The pain shoots through my body, the feeling of cold metal in my back area making everything feel worse. I land on the ground heavily, only making all of the pain worse.

My vision's begins to get all blurry, the sight of a single male figure coming this way startling me even more. Trying to move, I am incapable, the pain making my body shut down completely.

"Averil…"

The male figure is in front of me now, not knowing that Averil is behind him. Holding up my hand, I try to get Averil's attention, but I know it's too late. She has to go, or else it'll be too late – for both of us.

The male figure hovers over me, the spear with my blood on the tip being held in front of me. He has a flash-flight clipped around his collar, the swaying of it back and forth making me drift off. The light… it's such a nice color. As the light sways with every breath the male takes, it flashes behind him for a moment, showing me that Averil's gone.

She's… she's gone.

My vision begins to complete disappear, the blurriness of it all getting worse. Averil had a boomerang, but she couldn't do anything with it. I can't do anything anymore, either. I can't really blame her, can I? If she stayed, she would have been attacked too. I would have been the reason for both of us getting hurt.

And I would feel even worse right now if she got hurt too.

Letting my body go, I stop squirming and making myself panic, and I just stop. I sit there, lying calmly on the ground, watching the boy above me raise his spear again. Closing my eyes, I exhale one more time, feeling my body shutting down. The pain… my senses… the light….

It's all over, now. It was always going to end like this, wasn't I?

I never really had a chance.

* * *

_**District Eleven, Mauer Allister – Placed 17**__**th**_

_**District Ten, Astrid Pallon – Placed 16**__**th**_

* * *

**Tributes Remaining:  
Careers(1): **Aoife Cosette (D1: 18: 1 Kill), Helios Villard (D2: 18: 0 Kills), Bishop Grande (D3: 18: 0 Kills), Avis Lowery (D12: 17: 1 Kill)**  
Careers(2): **Coleen Morisette (D4: 18: 1 Kill), Orson Nautica (D4: 17: 1 Kill), Cassiopeia Bryony (D2: 17: 1 Kill), Augusta Daveigh (D9: 17: 0 Kills)**  
Alliance 1: **Devan Halloway (D5: 17: 0 Kills), Fausten Fraser (D6: 18: 0 Kills)**  
Loners: **Alecto Marcial (D5: 17: 1 Kill), Blake Valenzuela (D8: 16: 2 Kills), Jaggary Fowl (D10: 14: 0 Kills), Averil Disoto (D11: 15: 0 Kills), Fawn Brett (D12: 18: 0 Kills)

* * *

**Author's Note:**

I don't really believe in one of those 'Day-After-Bloodbath-Quiet-Time-With-No-Deaths'. It would never necessarily work out like that, really. Besides, I'm sure at least one person would die, especially when there are still this many tributes left.

Regardless, there you have it: Two more deaths.

-Comments-

**Mauer Allister: **Honestly, I didn't start to appreciate his character until it was too late. I didn't know what to do with him, where to take him, or how to develop him. Once I did start liking him, I already had something planned out for Blake and for the Games, so I couldn't do much. That's it for him, really; just one of those characters that had no direct path.

**Astrid Pallon:** It's funny; when I was first doing the death list, I completely forgot about her; not a bad thing, but she just slipped my mind. I went back, trying to put her somewhere, and then I figured a Career will kill her. I didn't want her to be a Bloodbath, so at least she made it to Day Two.

Question!

_Is there anyone you want to die in particular? And, is there anyone you want to survive in particular? _

And one personal question, you know the deal.

_If you were to die in the Hunger Games, how would you prefer to die? (Is that morbid? Eh, I'm curious. Now answer it.)_


	16. Arena: Day Three

w w w. riotofcolorhg. blogspot. c o m

w w w. halloffamethg. blogspot. c o m

* * *

**Orson Nautica  
District Four Male, 17 Years Old  
Day Three: Morning**

* * *

_It's her. _

_It's the girl from Ten._

_It is her… her small figure, her long hair, her body. It is her._

_But… it isn't. It's all colorful. Yellow for her hair, brown for her eyes, beige for her skin, magenta for her suit. It isn't her, though… it's the smoke. The colorful fog. It's like a spectral figure; her figure floating around, the smoke following behind her movements. _

_It's her._

_The girl I killed._

"Everyone, up!" Coleen shouts, snapping me out of my sleep.

Rubbing my eyes, I try to get the image out of my mind, the girl floating about still resonating in my mind. Coleen is hovering above me now, with a backpack over her shoulder and a trident in her hand. She looks like she's prepared for something, but I'm not sure for what. I hope we're not hunting today... I can't do it after last night. I don't know if I can kill again.

Trying to stand up, my body feels languid, and I fall back down. Coleen strolls away, going over towards Augusta now. I rub my eyes once more, trying to finally get the image out of my mind.

But, I can't. It's still there… the girl. The girl from Ten. The one I killed.

The one that Coleen _made _me kill.

"Any ideas for what you guys want to do today?" Coleen calls out, asking everyone for their opinion.

I remain silent, pushing myself back up against one of the poles of the Cornucopia. Gripping the spear to my side in my hand, my mind still isn't there, my body still feeling sleepy. Then, the image comes back for a split second, flashing before my eyes.

I keep seeing her… I saw her last night, too.

After I made the kill.

We were walking back to the Cornucopia, and… and I saw her. She was drifting about in the distance, following my every step. It was her. It was Astrid of District Ten. It all seemed so real, as if she was there.

Finally standing up all the way, I lean my weight on the spear a little, my body wanting to go back to bed immediately. I assume it's pretty early in the morning, since the sun is only rising. Turning towards the sun, I look at it for a few seconds, my eyes reactively blinking from the brightness of it.

I close my eyes, breathing in and out the cool air of the arena. Listening to the muffled voices of my allies behind me, I begin to drift off, sleep still wanting to consume my body. Catching myself before I really fall over and fall asleep, I shake a little, my eyes snapping back out.

And there she is.

Again.

The figure in front of me makes me send myself backwards, falling right onto my back. The pain erupts in my lower back, but I ignore it, watching the spectral figure in front of me disappear. The colorful fog of her floats around, dissolving right into the air. She's gone… but, but… she was there.

"Did anyone else see that?" I call out, slamming my hand down on the ground. "Did anyone else see that?!"

"See what?" I hear Coleen's voice right behind me, the sight of her hand touching my shoulder making me throw myself forward. Landing on my hands, I flip onto my back, shoving my face right in front of me Coleen.

"Did you see her?" I shout, causing everyone else to wake up. "Did you?!"

"Orson," Coleen whispers, trying to place her hand back on my shoulder. "See what?"

"Astrid!" I exclaim, throwing my hands in the air. "It was Astrid… the girl, the girl I killed last night!"

Coleen backs up, stepping behind Augusta and Cassia as they approach me. They stand there, all of them looking down at me, as if I'm the crazy one. No, she was there. I saw her. Three times now.

After the kill, in my dreams, and now… and right now. She was there each time.

"Orson?" Augusta pipes up, and my eyes dart to her, a grimace on her face.

"What are you looking at?" I shout, a peculiar feeling shooting throughout my body. "Stop looking at me!"

Augusta backs up towards Coleen, the two of them exchanging a look. Cassia takes a step closer, peering down at me as her large body stands up. She doesn't say a word, the look in her eye saying enough. Crawling backwards, I push myself up, wrapping my arm around a pole for balance.

"She was there," I whimper, my voice quiet. "She was…"

Coleen walks over, giving her trident to Augusta to hold. She places her hand on my shoulder, the look in her eye now saying enough. As I get a closer look at Coleen, the feeling comes back, the peculiar feeling that I've never felt before.

"It was you," I utter, looking down at the ground. "It was you!" I shout, looking back up at her now, her flinching at the sound of my voice.

"What was me?" She asks, removing her hand from my shoulder. She doesn't back up this time.

"You made me kill her," I snap, broadening my shoulders. "You made me kill her! You told me to do it… so why is she following me?" I am shouting at her now, and the confused look on her face makes me even angrier.

"Who is following you?" She asks, clearly not following anything. "No one is here except me and you, Cassia, and Augusta."

"It was you," I repeat, my voice deeper. "You made me kill her."

Coleen inclines her head, scrunching up her nose a little. "I can't make you do anything," she says, her voice low. "You did it yourself."

Pushing her back with all my force, she falls to the ground, the sound of her body hitting the ground making everyone go silent. I look up, feeling all panicky now, the sight of Cassia and Augusta staring at me making me want to run.

So I do.

I run.

Barely turning around, I scoop up the spear on the ground, running right down the hill. I don't turn around for any of the voices behind me, some of them louder and more frantic than the others. I keep running, right through the green forest, not stopping for a moment.

I run and run and run.

Trying to get away from them… from _her._

Slowing down a little bit, I push myself some more, ignoring the signs that my body wants to stop. That I can't go on anymore, but by the time I finally stop, I don't know where I am. I got far, now seeing the lime colored trees. We've never been over here before.

I look behind me, just to make sure that no one is there. That Coleen, Augusta, or Cassia aren't following me… that Astrid isn't following me. That none of them are.

Falling to my knees, I drop the spear, watching it roll to the side. I bury my face in my hands, the sound of Coleen's body hitting the ground and the way she spoke to me repeating in my mind. She made me do it.

Coleen made me kill her.

She made me kill Astrid so that she doesn't have to.

Coleen was just using me… so that she didn't have to get her hands dirty. I was just doing the dirty work for her, while she would take all the credit and only further her chances. She never cared for me.

She never did.

She was always in it for herself.

Everything I've felt for her since we first met all comes crashing down, the rage poisoning all of the good qualities I saw in her. She was funny, she was nice to me, and she was a good leader… and now, she's just a back-stabber. She's a selfish back-stabber who was manipulating me.

And I fell for it.

And the worst part about it is that I cared for her. That I genuinely wanted to help her, and that I actually thought this alliance would work, even with Cassia and Augusta.

But, I was wrong. I was completely wrong.

I was deluded and too naïve to realize any of this.

What about everyone else, then?

Are they only using me too?

My family… the DuPonts… they were all using me.

My family was using me for their own survival and being. The DuPonts were using me for their own protection and survival, telling me that I would have to volunteer if their son was reaped. My family only used me to fulfill the contract, didn't they?

That, if the boy was reaped, I would have to volunteer… I would have to volunteer for my family to stay in that home. It was all some plan; some plan that I didn't realize until now.

Why am I so stupid?

Why did I not realize this sooner?

_Just… just why._

_Why did this happen to me?_

* * *

**Devan Halloway  
District Five Male, 18 Years Old  
Day Three: Afternoon**

* * *

Fausten paces back and forth, digging his heel into the ground each time he stops to turn back around.

"Why are you so antsy?" I ask, getting antsy myself as I watch him pace around. "Is there something wrong?"

"What's there to do in the arena?" He inquires back, stopping in his tracks. "There has to be something."

"Pardon?" His words take me by surprise; he's asking if there's something to do? What kind of question is that?

Fausten goes quiet, returning back to pacing. He's been doing this for at least an hour now, and really, I don't know why. He could be using his energy for something else, or maybe take my advice and finally leave this red area. Fausten figured that since my suit is red, it has to mean something.

Well, we've been here for a day, and nothing. Not one thing has happened.

What was he expecting, anyway? He's only putting our lives at risk.

Every minute we spend sitting around here doing nothing, it gives the other tributes a chance to catch up. To find us, and perhaps, kill us. I've never seen Fausten as much as a fighter, but what do I know?

He knows just as much as about me as I do about him.

It's not the best alliance in terms of relationship or connection, but it works. We both got out of the Bloodbath, and are alive up to Day Three. It can't get much worse, can it?

"Want to start moving yet?" I ask, pestering him some more.

"Why?" He asks, his voice the same monotone sound it always is.

"Look, I don't know what you're planning here," I snap, getting a little agitated now. "You're just wasting our time."

"What are _you_ planning?" He retorts, and I really don't know what he means.

What am I planning?

I plan on surviving. Not to sit around in some red forest, waiting for something to happen. Just waiting for the Gamemakers to draw the tributes closer to this area, unleash some muttation, or set some trap. I never intended for this alliance to not go anywhere.

For a moment, I clung onto the idea that maybe Fausten and I could have been friends. Companions, acquaintances – something. Making a friend was never my intention in the Games, either. I figured, that with twenty-three new teenagers in my life, one of them would have to be compatible with me.

Now, I'm stuck with Fausten. And I don't even know one thing about him.

Except for this obsession with his Father, whoever that is. I will never understand it, and frankly, I don't care. I don't need to know about his past life or his family, not in the arena. If anything, I want to know more about him; why he's so detached, so confusing, and so sure of himself.

Why is he like that? And no, I don't want some answer involving his Father.

Or is that too much to ask for? Just like everything else in my life. Too hard to ask for, too hard for me to obtain on my own. It's never for me, is it? I probably deserve it.

"The time has come for us to depart," Fausten states, as if he was the one who has been thinking it. That he was the one who came up with the great idea of moving to a different area. And the worst part about is his annoying answer; why can't he just "Let's leave?"

Why does he do these things?

Standing up, I stuff all my things inside my backpack. I slip the knife into my belt, knowing that I might use it soon – on who, I don't know anymore. I pull the backpack over my shoulders, brush some of the dirt off my pants, and I am now already to leave.

But, of course, he isn't.

He takes his time, slowly packing up everything neatly. He makes sure that it all fits, and that as he's about to pull it over his back, he pauses. Fausten begins to wipe down his backpack, using his suit as a cloth. Tapping my foot, I try to get his attention, hoping that he's aware that he's only wasting our time some more.

"Are you ready?" I ask, walking over towards him.

"I've been ready," he answers, and I stop myself from shouting at him. "Are you ready?"

Ignoring him, I turn around, trying to remember what direction we already came from. Seeing the foot-prints on the ground, I figure that's the way we came from, so I go towards the other direction. Fausten follows slowly, taking his time stepping over vines and grass.

Walking through the red forest doesn't take too long, but it seems longer since no one's talking. As we come to the end, I see the hill at the end of it now going downwards, and the tops of the trees of the next section are silver.

Just like Fausten's suit.

The color is metallic, but without being too shiny. It does reflect some sunlight and looks somewhat sparkly, matching Fausten's suit perfectly. Fausten stops at the edge of the red forest, his eyes looking downhill. With every hill we come across, he can't just slide down it.

No, he has to take his time. Foot first, then hand, and then the other foot, and then the other hand. He has some whole system to climb down a hill.

I take my first step, about to sit down and slide down the hill, but something stops me. It's a sound of… it sounds like the flapping of wings. But, a lot of wings, but not like a bird. Almost like some insect that is traveling in packs, all flapping their wins at the same time. Shooting a glance at Fausten, he doesn't seem to be too phased by the sounds of whatever the creature is, until they come into view.

They're… they're butterflies.

Colorful ones. They have streaks of red and silver all down their wings, all in different patterns and designs.

They get closer and closer, the sound of their wings flapping becoming unbearably loud. For a moment, I forgot that the hill was right behind me, and as I take a step back instinctively, I fall. I fall right onto my back, and as I slide down it, I flip to my stomach. Bracing myself for impact, I can't really control myself or stop myself, so I just go with it.

Sliding down the hill rather quickly, I look behind me, seeing the butterflies stopping right at the edge of the red forest. It's like they can't pass it, or something. Wouldn't they be coming after us? Why aren't they?

I'm now at the bottom of the hill, and as I stand up, my body aches a little. I stretch my legs and arms, trying to regain my balance and trying to regain some energy. I reposition everything on me, like my backpack and my knife. But, then, I remember something – Fausten.

Where is he?

Looking around, I begin to shake a little bit, the idea of him dying already making me uncomfortable. He might not be my favorite person, but he's there to keep me company. Whatever our alliance is worth, I'll cling onto that value until one of us dies. Spinning around, I look around some more, trying to locate him. Where could he be?

"I'm over here," the familiar voice calls over, and as I turn around, I see that's it Fausten.

He's not messy at all. His backpack and weapon are still in place, and his suit isn't torn at all. Looking down at mine, I see little scratches and tears on my legs, and as I look back up, I furrow my eyebrows.

"Where did you go?" I ask, my voice sounding very contemptuous.

"I got away," he scoffs, waving for me to follow him. "Where were you?"

Shutting myself up, I follow him obediently. It'll be best not to start some argument or to start some feud between us. There's already enough tension between us as it is, and despite him getting away so easily, I can't be mad. Apparently, I missed something that he caught onto. Watching Fausten walk in front of me, I find myself questioning everything.

Is it really worth it? Is he really worth it?

Is this alliance worth it?

* * *

**Fawn Brett  
District Twelve Female, 18 Years Old  
Day Three: Night**

* * *

I've lost track of the colors.

All I remember is green, then pink, then copper, then magenta, and then lime. After that, it started to get dark, and now, it's completely pitch-black. At first, I wasn't sure what to think of it all, but as I kept walking, it all started to change.

The trees, plants, and even water, all began to change color. At the bottom of the slope from the Cornucopia, it was all green. It all soon turned pink, and then it kept changing. Sliding over closer to the tree I'm sitting, I try to inspect the tree more, but without any light, I'm getting nowhere.

It's all too dark.

And, even if I do light a match I got from the Cornucopia, I'll attract the attention of someone. The arena's too dark right now to do any of that. Besides, if it's not a tribute that will come after, it'll be a muttation.

And honestly, I don't know which one is worse.

Leaning back against the tree, I swing the strap of the sheath of arrows around the tree, and then clip the bow to it. Really, I don't know why I grabbed this weapon of all things, but it was the first thing I saw. I didn't want to waste more time than I already had there.

Not after I saw the death of the boy from Three.

It just came as a shock. The way the girl from Two, Cassiopeia, just swung at his body, disregarding the blood all over her. She seemed like she enjoyed it. If she knew I was watching, she would have come after me too, so I didn't want to take that risk. Now, I'm sitting here with a weapon I can barely use.

Closing my eyes, I attempt to fall asleep, or to even drift off. I get nowhere, though, as the thoughts of the Bloodbath come back to me and for a second, I feel like I smell something. Ignoring my senses, I roll to the side, tightening my belt around the tree-branch a little. I wouldn't want to fall, that's for sure.

As much as I try to ignore the smell, it gets worse and worse.

It smells like… smoke. That's what it is.

Slowly, I unwrap the sheath of arrows around the tree, as well as the bow. I perch myself on the branch, making sure I have enough arm room to load an arrow if I have to. My eyes scan the surrounding area, trying to locate where the smoke is coming from, and in one area, I see a small flickering flame.

Whoever it is, they walk behind a tree now, but I keep my eyes on that area, waiting for them to come back into view.

The flame seems to be coming this way, and I get a little panicky, not knowing who it is. It could be Career, and if it was, I'd be in some serious trouble. I might have the advantage of being higher up, but the Careers are the ones who know how to handle a weapon. I only have a bow that I can barely use.

Watching the figure attentively, I catch a glimpse of the tree, finally seeing the color of this area. It's a beige-type color, but it's much lighter with another color infused. It's the color of the District Four female's suit, and from what I remember, it's called coral. My stylist in the room just rambled on about some of the colors, but I didn't pay much attention.

But, here I am, trying to figure out what color I'm in; still with no idea of what they mean.

The figure takes a turn, and I flip to the other side of the tree, still having enough room to shoot an arrow. From what I can see, the figure looks much shorter than everyone else. Where the flame is looks like it'd be at my waist, if not lower. As the person comes closer, I draw an arrow out of the sheath and lay it on the bow string.

Pulling it back slowly, I struggle with it a little, having to pull it with more force.

This bow seems to be tougher to use than the ones in the Training Center; great. Even with a weapon, I probably won't even be able to do anything with it.

With the arrow finally drawn back on the string, I wait for the figure to come closer, and I count the steps. I can hear the sounds of the steps now, as well as the sound of whoever it is breathing. Their breaths are short and heavy, the footsteps being heavy too.

Something must have happened.

When the figure finally comes close enough, I draw the arrow back even further, and exhale. It has to happen. I knew all along that I would have to kill, that at least once in the Games would I have to deal with all of this. I can't back down now, not when they're this close.

If I can't kill now, I won't be able to kill ever. And that's something I have to get over.

Now is not the time to be scared. I've been through too much for that.

Without giving it much more thought, I count five more steps, and once I get to five, I release the arrow. I exhale again, not expecting it to hit, really. But, it does. What it hit, I'm not sure, but by the sound of this person's gasp and yelp, it hit something.

The flame in the person's hand drops, and the sight of an arrow in the foot of the person is revealed. Before the person can run or anything, I already have another arrow loaded, and I release another one.

Another miss, but by the sound of it, it takes him down.

There's a solid thud, which I assume is the person hitting the ground. The flame is still on, and as the person rolls around, I catch a glimpse of a face. Red hair, a pointy nose… it's the boy from Ten. His face seems to be a little scraped too, which only makes me think if I'm doing the right thing. Won't I be putting him out of his misery? If he's already injured, I'm just making it easier.

He still hasn't seen me up here, but he's scrambling on the ground, and as I load another arrow, he grabs the match in his hand and smothers it.

There goes any light.

But, he can't go too far. He has an arrow in his foot, and wherever the second one is, I'm sure it won't help either. Putting my hand in the sheath, I can't that I have about six more arrows; ten altogether. Shooting the third arrow, I can hear that it missed, it being lodged into the ground.

I put another one on the string. Pushing my luck, I shoot it again, and the sound following this one shows me that I hit him. It's a scream, this time, not some muffled yelp. It was a heart-wrenching scream, one that resonates in my mind. It sounded so helpless, so desperate… but I can't care about that now.

I've just made my first kill – and for all I know, this could only be the start.

_Boom!_

Lowering my bow, I put the next arrow I had ready back in the sheath and clip the bow back onto it. I wrap the sheath and bow around the branch of the tree, making sure to make it tighter this time. I re-tighten the loop on my waist around the trunk of the tree, making myself more comfortable. Closing my eyes, I try to forget about all of this, but for some reason, I can't.

It's not that I care about killing him… it just doesn't feel right.

He didn't have a chance in the fight, with me having height and a bow and all. All he had was a match, which gave away his position. Besides, it sounds like he got into a skirmish or something beforehand, taking into account his breaths and footsteps. He had a few scratches on his face, too, so something had to happen.

So, it's not really my fault, is it?

I only made things easier for him.

* * *

_**District Ten, Jaggary Fowl – Placed 15**__**th**_

* * *

**Tributes Remaining:  
Careers(1): **Aoife Cosette (D1: 18: 1 Kill), Helios Villard (D2: 18: 0 Kills), Bishop Grande (D3: 18: 0 Kills), Avis Lowery (D12: 17: 1 Kill)**  
Careers(2): **Coleen Morisette (D4: 18: 1 Kill), Orson Nautica (D4: 17: 1 Kill), Cassiopeia Bryony (D2: 17: 1 Kill), Augusta Daveigh (D9: 17: 0 Kills)**  
Alliance 1: **Devan Halloway (D5: 17: 0 Kills), Fausten Fraser (D6: 18: 0 Kills)  
**Loners: **Alecto Marcial (D5: 17: 1 Kill), Blake Valenzuela (D8: 16: 2 Kills), Averil Disoto (D11: 15: 0 Kills), Fawn Brett (D12: 18: 1 Kill)

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Day Three! Well, there you have it. District Seven and now District Ten are out of the Games. There was only one death, but get used to having deaths every chapter.

(With me, I will always have a death every day. It's not the same number every day, but there's always one.)

*There's a poll up: On your preference for the Top Eight*

And my comment on the death of the tribute.

**Jaggary Fowl:** At first, I was iffy with his character; especially with writing for him. As I finished his first POV, I found that I did like him more, but as you can see, not enough for him to do well. Besides, I needed someone to be the kill for Fawn; not everyone can get some extravagant and spectacular death, eh? Some deaths would be unexpected and definitely a spur of the moment, so there you go.

Question about the story:

_Who is your favorite character at the moment? Who is your least favorite character? (Only pick one.)_

Personal question? Okay, if you insist.

_What type of person would you ally with in the Hunger Games?_


	17. Arena: Day Four

w w w. riotofcolorhg. blogspot. c o m

w w w. halloffamethg. blogspot. c o m

* * *

**Bishop Grande  
****District Three Female, 18 Years Old  
****Day Four: Morning**

* * *

"Find anything yet?"

From the sound of Helios' voice, it sounds like he's actually doing something, but as I turn around, I see him sitting there. He's sitting on the ground, rolling the spear's shaft in between his hands, a pack of opened crackers next to him. Shaking my head, I make a face, pretending to be Aoife.

"What do you think you're doing?" I shout, pretending to hold an imaginary claymore in the both of my hands. "How dare you! We should be initiating the siege of the Cornucopia!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Miss Cosette," Helios replies, holding his hands up in the air, the spear dropping to his side. "Please, don't kill me! You've already lost Fabian; this alliance can't suffer anymore!"

I attempt to retort something, but I'm giggling too much, our perceptions of Aoife and how our usual conversations go being completely accurate. She's always complaining about something, or belittling and criticizing us. She never seems to be happy, really.

Except when she's with Avis, but she won't admit.

He's just oh-so convenient for her, whatever they actually do when they're alone. I really don't need to know.

"Anyway," Helios cuts in, his voice a little shaky from laughing. "Want to start heading back?"

Nodding, I pick up my sling-pack, wrapping it back across my chest. I keep the knives on my belt, keeping them in a handy place just in case. With Helios, I hope nothing does happen, but at this point, anything can happen. Setting the morbid thoughts aside, I turn back to Helios, who's already up and ready.

"Do you know which way?" I ask, genuinely forgetting where we came from; I only know that we're in the magenta area right now, but nothing more than that. "It's all up to you, Villard. Do you accept the mission?"

Helios goes in front of me, his hand trailing behind him. I contemplate grabbing it, to show him that I do care, but I can't. I'm not here for any romance or a relationship. I'm not here with Helios for any of that, either, but ever since the Games, I can't help myself.

He really is the only reason I joined this alliance, anyway. Aoife only wanted me because of my looks, and Avis doesn't care. Fabian just wanted to tell me all of the things I did wrong with my hair, as if he knew any better. He's dead now, though, so he doesn't matter.

Not like any of them ever mattered. Except for Helios, that is.

He matters.

Around him, I can be myself. I don't need to pretend for him.

He listens to me, he cares about me, and he won't leave me. With him, I finally feel open and that I feel like I can trust him. That I can put my walls down, let him in, and feel something for once. Back in District Three, I couldn't do that.

Not with the washed-up people I was surrounded by.

"So," Helios says, trailing off. "What to talk about?"

I smile at the sound of his voice, the feeling of my cheeks blushing a little making me feel worse. I can't like him, I just can't. This isn't the place for any of that, and besides, we aren't meant to be. He's from District Two, I'm from District Three. It just doesn't work like that.

As much as I'd like to, I could never tell him. He already has enough on his plate as it is, and some girl who has fallen head over heels for a boy she just met would make it all worse. I just have to get over it, no matter how long it takes.

Walking a little faster, I catch up to him, our arms against each other now. I stand a little closer, the warmth of his arm making me feel comfortable, letting me feel like I'm not in the Games. That I'm not here, only walking around to see if there's anyone to kill.

That I'm not in the Hunger Games at all.

But, as Helios' arms drifts away, the realization comes back. I am in the Hunger Games and I am walking around with him to see if there's anyone to kill. And that's how it is now, I guess, and I can't do anything about it.

Not like I ever could do anything about it. It's not like I can just wave a white flag in the air and then be allowed to just drop out of the arena. That'd be great, though, wouldn't I? Then, maybe Helios and I could go somewhere.

But, for now, I have to keep my head in reality. I can't drift off like this.

It'll get me killed.

"You're being quiet today," Helios banters, nudging his arm into mine. "Is everything all right?"

Shrugging, I try to hide my emotion, not wanting him to worry. It doesn't work, though, as I open my mouth and tell him the truth without filtering myself. "I'm just worried."

"About what?" Helios stops in his tracks, turning towards me. "What's wrong?"

"It's silly," I excuse myself, trying to change the subject. "I'm just thinking too much, you know? The Games have that effect on people."

Helios smirks, his smile making me feel even worse. Now is not the time for him to look like that. He keeps walking, and he lets me go in front of him, the feeling of him still looking making me blush even more.

"Just about, you know," I begin, feeling silly about even bringing it up. "About kiddy things…"

"Wait."

Helios' stern voice makes me stop, his arm begin held out in front of me scaring me a little. Now would have been the best time to say something, but now, this is important. I don't know what it is, but by the looks of Helios, it's something. He broadens his shoulder and raises his spear a little, without looking back at me. I remain quiet, not wanting to alert whoever or whatever it is that we're nearby. A fight isn't something we need right know.

"No," I utter, feeling Helios' arm tense up.

Leaning to the side a little, I cling onto his arm, trying to get a better look. Once I see that's it a person, I feel a little more frightened, knowing that we'll have to do something now. It's Orson, the male from District Four – Coleen's ally. The other part of the Careers this year, who our alliance is in some rivalry with.

I don't really understand it all, but I'll go along with it.

"What are we going to do?" I whisper into Helios' ear, his eyes flinching a little.

Helios remains silent, and I step to the side now, getting an even better look at Orson. He's hunched over, his face buried into his hands, and from the looks of it, he's been in some trouble. The back of his neck is sweating, his suit torn up a little bit. He doesn't know we're here, and that's probably for the better.

We don't have to kill, then.

Aoife doesn't need to know about this.

Helios and I take a step to the side in unison, both of us keeping our eyes on the boy on the ground. I slip a knife out of the pouch on my belt, just in case I have to do something. If he moves, I have to attack, don't I? If I don't, he'll get to us first. I can't let him have that advantage.

Especially when neither Helios nor I have killed yet. We're both new to this.

After one more step, Orson shoots his head upwards, pausing a moment. He doesn't go for the spear, and instead, he turns right towards us. Without thinking, I send the knife flying out of my hand, all of us watching it soar the air.

It lands in his shoulder, and his eyes bulge out. He doesn't move or say anything; he just stands there, his face not even looking like he's in any pain.

"Bishop," Helios whispers, bringing his arm back to his side.

"I… I didn't mean to do it…," I begin, my voice sounding all panicky. "I just didn't want him to hurt us."

Orson doesn't drop the ground, and this time, he goes for his spear. His movements are languid, the way he brings the usable arm down to the ground now looking as if he's in pain. With his left hand, he holds the spear out in front of him, pointing it at us.

Helios brings his spear up, and me… I just cower behind Helios.

I've already done enough.

As Orson takes a step closer, he begins mumbling to himself, his mouth looking like he's been bleeding in there. His skin is paler than usual, with his whole face being completely drenched in sweat. Why isn't he with allies?

Where are they?

Something had to happen.

With every step Orson takes, my heart beats a little faster. I look at Helios, whose hands are now shaking around the spear, probably just as confused and frightened as I am. We never planned on killing, or anything of the sort. We just offered to hunt, not really wanting to in the first place; we just wanted to get away from Aoife and Avis.

That was it. We never wanted this to happen.

Orson gets too close for comfort, and with a gentle poke, Helios pushes him backwards. Orson looks like he doesn't have enough energy to do anything else, and his body falls forward, making me think that he's attacking.

It makes Helios think the same thing.

Helios plunges the spear into his chest, with a little help from Orson's body falling forward. Why did he do that? Isn't Orson a Career? Isn't he trained to fight?

Why did he give up that easily?

"They'll follow you too," he murmurs, repeating it over and over again. "_I'll _follow you… again… and… again…"

Helios pulls the spear out of his chest, leaving Orson on his knees, both of us looking down at the scene in front of us. We both back up, seeing Orson's body slowly fall forward, and this time, he doesn't do anything.

His body goes limp.

"Her," he whispers, his face looking up at us. His eyelids are heavy, the pair barely being able to keep his eyes open. He opens his mouth, saliva dribbling out of it. "Me…"

From the trees behind him, the colorful smoke begins to rise, coming right for all of us. When it reaches Orson's body, the color blue encircles him, his body now looking like one big blob of it. Questions and thoughts race through my mind, giving me a headache, and this time, the presence of Helios can't even help me. Nothing can make me feel better now.

What is going on?

Why is this happening?

_What have we done?_

* * *

**Blake Valenzuela  
District Eight Male, 16 Years Old  
Day Four: Afternoon**

* * *

"_Blake…"_

At the sound of my name, I toss and turn, groaning with every movement. Pulling the sleeping bag over my ears, I try to ignore any more noises that I hear, already mad enough that I've already been woken up. From the recent increase in temperature, it's probably around afternoon now, but I don't care; I've found a good hiding spot and I've done a lot in the past few days.

"_Blake…"_

I stop myself from moving, exhaling slowly, trying to calm myself down. Who could be calling my name? No one's here; it's like I have allies or anything. I'm only on my own. Before getting up, I wait another minute or so, trying to listen if I can hear my name being called again.

"_Blake…"_

"What?" I shout, shooting right up from the sleeping bag. "What do you want?!"

My vision is focused, after being a little blurry from just waking up, and as I look in front of me, I see nothing. Just another maroon tree, surrounded by some more bushes and flowers of the same color. There's nothing else; maybe I was just hearing things. That's always possible, really.

Sliding myself out of the sleeping bag, I crumble it up a little, carelessly pushing it back inside my backpack. It's not like I have many supplies left, anyway; only a few pouches of dried fruit, this sleeping bag, and my knife, wherever that is.

It's probably my most valued supply, though. My knife, that is.

It's been the most useful out of everything.

"_Blake…"_

And there it goes again.

I'm facing the tree now, but the sense that something is behind me makes me stop. I freeze for a moment, trying to take everything in, waiting for the thing behind me to move first. If I react too quickly, it could overcome me easily, but if I wait just for the right.

It's all about taking your time in the Games. You can't rush or make reckless decisions.

"_Blake…"_

Before I can make any other movement or thought, I can see something in the corner of my eye. On my shoulder, there seems to be something touching it. I don't move, I simply stand there still, waiting for whatever it is to attack. I look at it more closely, seeing that it's not even a person or creature; it's like the fog from the beginning of the Games.

How is that… What is that?

Gripping the knife in my hand, I wait a moment, my ears being on high-alert. The hand comes back onto my shoulder, and with a swift movement, I swing around. The blade cuts right through whatever it is, the colorful figure only being cut in half. It's all fog; all of it. The top part drifts about, while the bottom is still intact, except for the slit right across it.

As it connects itself back together, the fog absorbing right into the other half, I look at is a whole.

It looks familiar.

The brown hair, the brown eyes, the purple suit. How can it be?

Is it really Poplin?

But, at the same time, it's not. It's all fog, some ghost-like figure. It's not real; it's only made from fog. I mean, it's real, but it's not a real person or muttation. I don't even know what it is.

"How?" I whisper, the knife still being held outwards. "What are you?"

The Poplin figure comes straight at me, pushing me back against the tree. The fog simply disperses in front of me, making my face feel a little moist. The ethereal feeling of the fog sends a chill down my spine, making everything around me seem like a dream-state for a moment. Without moving my body, I turn my around, looking around to see if it's coming back.

"_Blake…"_

In the distance, there's another figure, but this time, it's different. Without giving it too much thought, I jump to a conclusion that I know who it'll already be.

It has to be Mauer.

If this one was Poplin, this one has to be Mauer.

The two tributes I've killed.

If I were to throw the knife, it'd do nothing. It only cut through Poplin, and now she's back, so these aren't muttations. Then, what are they? They aren't an illusion, either.

They're real.

Just as real as my kills were.

One after another, they both begin to whisper my name, the sound of it going right through my ears. The sounds of their voices are so ethereal, as if it's only some figment of my imagination. These can't be real, I killed them. I killed the both of them, so why are they here?

Why are they coming back?

I don't want them to come back.

Backing up, I walk backwards around the tree, keeping my eyes on the pairs of these fog-figures. Once I put a large enough distance between the three of us, I turn around, not giving myself a moment to look back. Cutting through a small stream, the water splashes about, the sound startling me a little bit.

Why am I scared of them?

They're not real. They are just man-made creations from this fog. There's nothing to be scared about.

But, that doesn't stop me from running. As I reach the edge of the maroon tree, I see the flat land between areas in front of me. This time, though, is an up-hill. I curse under my breath, not wanting to back that way, but at this point, I don't have a choice.

They're probably still following.

Why don't they just leave me alone?

I did nothing wrong. I did what I have to do.

Turning back for a quick second, I see that the figures aren't following me, so I stop moving. Although I should keep running – to put as much distance as I can – I realize that it won't help. They aren't real, so they can move as quickly as they want. They'll follow me wherever I go, so running is pointless.

Just like running was pointless for Poplin and Mauer.

I would have killed them either way.

Why? Because I had to.

Because that's the point. That's the point of the Hunger Games, isn't it? To kill? Why else would they put us here? To run around, play some card game or play hide-and-seek? That's not why we're here.

Why would I waste my time, then? Is there something for me to hide?

I can kill, and now everyone knows it. If Poplin or Mauer knew it, they wouldn't have come near me. I wasn't going to to show them, of all people, that I was afraid. I'm not afraid.

I never was afraid.

There's nothing to be afraid of anymore.

Not even death.

* * *

**Averil Disoto  
District Eleven Female, 15 Years Old  
Day Four: Night**

* * *

_How far could it be?_

Just a simple drop down.

Peering over the edge of the tree-branch, I look down at the bottom of the hill, the drop to the bottom making my legs shake a little. I could never do it.

I could never jump.

Especially not on television, where everyone can see me. I would never let my family see something like that.

I'm not like that, but after seeing Astrid die, I just don't know what to do anymore. Even though we only met right after the Bloodbath, I still felt something. I finally met someone that maybe I could ally with, who would journey through the Games with me.

But, that was too much to ask for. It all came crashing down during the night of Day Two. I still remember the exact moment, where we both were startled awake. I grabbed my boomerang, while Astrid was completely helpless. I felt like I should have stayed and help.

That is what like the right thing to do, but was it?

If I stayed with her, I would have died too. I managed to climb up the tree just in time, leaving Astrid down there all by herself. She could do nothing; nothing at all. Not with her wrist. She was helpless, and I just stood there, hiding above them all.

I don't even know who killed her, and that's the worst part.

I had no closure with Astrid.

As I watched the spear impale her, I was shocked. I had time to do something, too, but I couldn't bring myself to it. The boy was beneath me, and I had the boomerang, but I couldn't do it. I couldn't attack him; I'm not like that.

It wasn't my place to attack him.

I probably couldn't even attack him.

Although I don't want to think about it, I just feel like I was being selfish, yet at the same time, I felt selfless wanting to help her. I already helped her after the Bloodbath, so she was already my friend. I wouldn't have helped her if I didn't trust her.

She was different than the rest. She was friendly, kind, and nice. She was everything I could ask for in an ally.

But, then, I ruined it. I let her die.

It was my entire fault.

Dropping the backpack onto the ground from the tree, I begin to climb down, my movements slow and lethargic. Once I reach the ground, I drag the backpack along the ground, not being bothered to actually put it on. Rubbing my fingers along the metal part of the boomerang, I just make myself feel worse.

I should have done something.

Only if I stepped in and hit the boy over the head, maybe then Astrid would be alive right now.

Walking through an opening in a few trees, I stumble across a piece of cloth, making me get a little frantic. Looking around, trying to find something that shows me that someone's here, I can't find anything. I pick up the piece of cloth, and I rummage around in my backpack, looking for the flashlight I got from the Cornucopia.

After flipping on the small flashlight, I examine the cloth, seeing that it's black. Who had black cloth? It wasn't one of the Careers, and it's someone who's still alive, definitely. I know that there was only one cannon today, it being the boy from Four. His picture was shown in the sky a little while ago, the sight of him in his blue suit making me hate myself even more for not saving Astrid.

I bet his allies would have wanted to save him too.

Looking up from the cloth, I turn the flashlight off, realizing that it might give away my location. I might be upset about her death still – even after two days of it happening – but I can't be careless now. I still have my life to worry about.

"Averil, right?" A voice asks behind me, and at the sound of the female voice, I freeze.

"Y-y-yes," I say, gulping. "I shouldn't be here…"

I turn around slowly, the light of a flashlight behind me in the person's hand showing me their face. It's the girl from Twelve, Fawn. I remember seeing her sometime in the arena, other than during the Bloodbath, but I can't recall exactly when. Her backpack is at her feet, without anything else in her hands.

"I don't want to hurt you," she whispers, loud enough for me to hear. "Oh, you should probably take a look at this."

Fawn unfolds a piece of paper in her hands, holding it out in front of her. She waves it towards her, gesturing for me to come closer, and at first, I'm skeptical. What could it be? A sponsor gift of some sort? But, why would it concern me?

Snatching it from her hands, I take a step closer, letting the flashlight shed light onto the piece of paper. I skip the bottom quickly, to see who actually wrote the note. It's Seeder, my mentor. Why would she give Fawn something?

_Averil,_

_You and Fawn are both in need of an ally. I spoke with Niobe,  
her mentor (to the best of my ability, that is. She's rather  
uncommunicative), and we both feel the same way.  
If Fawn has found you, and has given you this paper, that  
means she is willing to be your ally.  
The next question is, though: Are you?_

_- Seeder of Eleven_

Looking up at Fawn, I see her with a piece of paper of her own, holding that one out too. "Really?" I ask, folding the paper back up into a square. "Allies?"

The light is dim, but I can still somewhat see her face and upper-chest. "Apparently, we both need. Besides, I'm out of arrows, am running out of supplies, and frankly, I need someone to talk to."

I nod, pushing the piece of paper into my backpack. I wait for a moment, not really sure if I'm supposed to say anything else, and as Fawn looks me up-and-down, she speaks again.

"So?" She asks, leaning her body forward, whispering in my ear. "Allies?"

"Allies," I repeat, nodding my head.

I might not know Fawn at all, but if Seeder thinks it's a good idea, then I think it's a good idea. Seeder was always there for me in the Capitol, always giving me advice and telling me what I should know. I might be questioning the idea of allying with a girl I don't know, but I can't let my own perception get in the way.

Both of our mentors agree, so I should agree to.

I just hope that this alliance turns out differently.

I just don't want another incident like with Astrid to happen.

I won't be able to handle something like that again.

That would be my breaking point.

* * *

_**District Four, Orson Nautica – Placed 14**__**th**_

* * *

**Tributes Remaining:  
Careers(1): **Aoife Cosette (D1: 18: 1 Kill), Helios Villard (D2: 18: 1 Kill), Bishop Grande (D3: 18: 0 Kills), Avis Lowery (D12: 17: 1 Kill)**  
Careers(2): **Coleen Morisette (D4: 18: 1 Kill), Cassiopeia Bryony (D2: 17: 1 Kill), Augusta Daveigh (D9: 17: 0 Kills)**  
Alliance 1: **Devan Halloway (D5: 17: 0 Kills), Fausten Fraser (D6: 18: 0 Kills)  
**Alliance 2:** Averil Disoto (D11: 15: 0 Kills), Fawn Brett (D12: 18: 1 Kill)**  
Loners: **Alecto Marcial (D5: 17: 1 Kill), Blake Valenzuela (D8: 16: 2 Kills)

* * *

**Author's Note:**

And there is Day Four, everyone. Thirteen places left, twelve until the victor is chosen. Hmm, questions, questions.

But, first, the obituary/eulogy;

**Orson Nautica: **He was different. I liked his backstory a lot, actually. He as a character I wasn't sure with, but after his first POV, I had some direction with him. But, killing got in the way, as did his allies. The fog didn't help him, either. So, now he's dead; clearly, he was more beat-up than we left him last chapter. He lost it a bit more, on the verge of breaking and going crazy. I did like writing him for what he was and for what he did, and I will miss him a little, since he was a nice addition to the story. And we all know how well District Four did in my last SYOT, so.

Now for a question on the story (Only one this time, since I'm lacking creativity at the moment.)

_Any ideas for future events with the Careers (Both Pack One and Two)? As in, do you anticipate a big fight, another death, or something along the lines?_

Personal question time.

_What is your favorite character archetype? (s/o to ImmyRose for this spectacular question)_


	18. Arena: Day Five

w w w. riotofcolorhg. blogspot. c o m

w w w. halloffamethg. blogspot. c o m

* * *

**Augusta Daveigh  
District Nine Female, 17 Years Old  
Day Five: Morning**

* * *

"Did you see that?!"

Coleen and I look up, dropping the backpacks we had in our hands. Cassia's standing at the edge of the flatland, her hand pointing downwards. She spins around, her face looking like she saw a monster or something. Coleen looks at me, the look in her eye telling me that she wants me to go.

Great; some alone time with _her_.

Standing up, I rearrange the backpacks that I dropped, pushing them all up against one of the poles. Grabbing a bolas, I slip an extra knife in my boot, just in case there really is something. Cassia is looking down the hill again, her hands shaking anxiously. By the time I get to her, she's already began to walk down the hill, not waiting for me.

Why wouldn't she just go see it herself?

She's always been the proactive one of this group. Always the one to take the risk, to see what's going on when none of us are looking.

What makes this instance different?

"Are you going to wait up?" I call after Cassia, sliding down the hill, my hand behind me to keep me steady.

Cassia ignores me, already at the bottom of the hill. As I reach the bottom, she walks right into the forest, not even glancing back once. I might as well just go back, it's not like she needs me. If it's a person, she'd do the kill on her own. She'd take all the credit, too, and just say that I was wandering around hopelessly.

She's annoying like that.

That might be why she was – and still is – my least favorite ally. She's been a nuisance ever since.

"Pass me the strings?" She says, reaching her behind her, clamping it together.

"The strings?" I ask, annoyed that she's even calling them a string. They are bolas, not strings.

"The things you're holding, Augusta," she says, clamping her hand together again. "Give me them."

Making a face, I toss them to her, surprised that she caught them without even looking. She holds them in front of her, stretches them out, and dangles them to her side. I see her slip her knife back into her belt, only equipped with the bolas now. Oh, now she wants to kill with a weapon she doesn't even know the name of.

That's even better.

"Over there!" Cassia exclaims, darting off into a different direction. "Follow!"

Jogging slowly, I follow her, going right through the green forest. She keeps turning in different directions, going right in one way, and then turning back left. She zigzags through the forest, and I can barely keep up, but I manage. As we reach a small opening in the forest, she stops, splashing the water in the stream beneath her with her foot.

"Do you hear that?" She asks, and I stop myself too, trying to hear something. But, I hear nothing, except for the sound of my panting.

"No?" I ask, taking a step closer to her. "What am I supposed to hear?"

"Isn't it beautiful?" She asks, ignoring my question per usual. "Don't you think so, Augusta?"

Going quiet, I try to listen to something, but the only thing I can hear besides my panting is all natural sounds. There's a soft sound of an animal scurrying about on the ground, the running water of the stream, and the chirp of a bird. Cassia and I both go quiet, and I stand there, finding myself listening too carefully to all of the sounds.

It just makes me miss District Nine… the animals, the water – the nature.

"It's lovely," Cassia utters, kneeling down to the ground, the bolas still in her hands. "Do you miss home, Augusta?"

"Of course," I answer truthfully, not really caring if she's playing some game with me right now. "Don't we all?"

"I don't," she answers quickly, splashing the water out of the stream. "I never really cared for District Two."

"Maybe you would have liked District Nine better," I say, my voice quiet.

"And why is that?" She questions, her voice becoming colder. "Why would I like District Nine more?"

I don't have an answer.

Just the way she answered about District Two, it seems that District Nine would be better. I don't know anything about District Two, or anything about any other Districts, really. We were never taught about any of that; except for what they provide Panem with. Never any specifics.

"I like the Games," Cassia utters, still not turning around.

"And why is that?" I ask, gulping a little, getting a little uncomfortable.

"Freedom," she deadpans, playing with the bolas in between her fingers. "No rules, no laws, no Peacekeepers."

"Yeah, freedom sounds nice," I say, trying to give some satisfaction to Cassia. "It's nice to not have someone tell you what to do."

"I can do whatever I want," Cassia utters, her voice getting lower, not paying attention to what I say anymore. "I can do _whatever _I want."

Cassia spins around, and before I can react, the bolas has already entangled my feet.

Falling backwards, I try to brace for it, but I fall too quickly. I squirm my hands, trying to reach for my feet, but I can't bend my legs or get my hands anywhere near it. Reaching for my knife would be pointless too, but that doesn't stop me.

"Coleen!" I scream, my voice cracking and causing the back of my throat to burn. "Coleen!"

Cassia saunters over towards me, sliding the hooked knife out of her belt. I gulp again, my throat hurting too much to scream anymore, but I keep trying to get someone's attention. Someone has to be near me.

"Don't scream," Cassia says, kneeling down next to me. "You're mine."

Before I can send my fist towards her, she already has my hand pinned down, the knife raised in the air. My eyes bulge out of my head at the sight of what she is about to do, and as the knife is sent downwards, I yelp. The knife pierces my wrist, the pain shooting right through my entire body. I bite down on my tongue, the pain getting worse and worse with every urge I have to scream or squirm.

She leaves the knife there, the blade have went right through the bone and through to the other side. I breathe, my body all tense now, only making it worse. Cassia stands back up, standing right above me now, the look on her face making my wrist feel even worse.

"Silly, silly Augusta," she taunts, now sitting on top of me, her pressure making it hard for me to breath. "Anything else you want to say?"

"You won't get away with this," I spit back at her, not really having anything else to say. It's all too painful for me to even to think anymore. "Coleen…"

"Oh, please," she quips, rolling her eyes at the mention of Coleen. "What is she going to do?"

"She's going to kill you," I raise my voice, leaning my head forward. She brings her palm down on my forehead, pushing my head back to the ground, leaving her hand where it is. "She will!"

Cassia pushes her hand backwards more, making me extend my neck backwards. From the back of her belt, she takes out another knife, this one being with a smaller blade. Looking back at my wrist one last time, I see the blood pouring out of it, and it makes me nauseous. I look back at Cassia, trying to ignore the image of my wrist. It feels numb now, the pain still being excruciating, but the pain is turning into more of a sting.

Cassia drags her finger nail across my throat, her mouth agape. "Augusta," she says, repeating my name over and over again. "Augusta, Augusta, Augusta."

Why is this happening to me?

What did I do?

I've never upset her, hurt her, or defied her. I always did what she told me to do, never saying 'no' or showing any bias towards Coleen. What has she ever had against me?

Cassia brings the knife to my throat, the cold metal making me thrash my left arm. Swiftly, she pins that one down, holding the knife to my throat with more pressure now. As I look at Cassia one more time, I see something that makes me feel sick.

Her face… her _smile_. She's smiling at this.

"You were never going to win," she teases, bringing her face closer to my ear. "You were always expendable."

And that is something I can't deny. I was always expendable.

I never meant anything to them… I was only there to even out the numbers, to act as some bait for Coleen and Cassia.

And that was my fault. I let them use me, listening to every word they said about genuinely wanting me. How could I let them do that? Lie to me like that? Deceive me like that?

_Lying was always my thing… how could I let them use it against me?_

_This is my entire fault._

_I did this to myself. _

* * *

**Devan Halloway  
District Five Male, 17 Years Old  
Day Five: Afternoon**

* * *

One more cannon.

One less tribute that I can consider competition. One less obstacle in the way, only obstructing the way to achieve anything. Whether or not I mean victory, I'll figure out that soon. All of my goals have been skewed lately, as the realization about the Games comes to me. As my own naivety is torn apart, I've learned a lot more and have seen things differently. Like victory. What does that mean, anyway? _Victory_.

Victory isn't as appealing to me as it would be to most.

The Victory's Interview, the Victory Tour, the Victor's Village. It's all ironic, really. All sugar-coated, all esteemed to be some prize up for grabs. It's all to lure in the tributes, to show them some incentive to do well in the Games.

Well, as in, kill. That's the only way you can win.

Unless you're lucky, but that's a different story. Most people win with sheer skill or some talent, while the rest just simply perish, returning back home to their District or to be just left in the Capitol. It's not like the Capitol cares about any of the dead bodies; they'll always have more to bring in into these Games.

It's only the Thirtieth Hunger Games, after all. Figure that's about seven-hundred dead tributes. It still doesn't stop the Capitol, though. They keep the Games going, and each year, it gets worse.

It gets worse for everyone – the citizens, the Districts, and for Panem as a whole. The Games are a plague.

"Why are you so quiet today, Devan?" Fausten inquires, his voice in a mocking tone. "You always have something to say."

"Not today," I mumble, spinning the blade of the knife deeper into the ground. "Not in the mood."

"And why is that?" Fausten asks back, the eagerness in his voice clear.

I could just tell him the truth; that this alliance isn't working. That I can barely stand his presence, and every time he breathes, I roll my eyes. It'd be easier if someone were to come off and kill him. It wouldn't matter, to be honest. He was never intended to be my friend, more-so a companion that would be in an alliance with me. Nothing more than that.

What else could he be?

A friend? That's funny.

"A friend," I utter out loud, chucking at the sound of it. "A friend!"

"Are you thinking about your friends?" He asks, and I crane my head at the sound of his voice, peering at him from the corner of my eye.

"Of course I am," I reply, giving him a grin. "That's exactly what I'm thinking about."

"Care to tell me about them?" He insists, leaning his elbows on his upper-thigh, resting his head on his hands. "Let's get more comfortable with each other."

"Okay, okay," I concede, the agitation in my body only getting worse. "Well, I have this one friend," I say, thinking of some name that sounds like Fausten. "His name is Austin."

"What's he like?" Fausten asks, and for a moment, I don't mind this alliance. Where I can be completely passive aggressive about my opinion towards him, and he won't have any clue. It feels good to be able to say all of this without him getting mad.

"He was really close with his family," I answer with a smirk, thinking of Fausten and his creepy obsession with his Father. "He had dark hair, pale skin," I continue, telling Fausten the image of himself that I have in my mind.

"Did you two get along?" Fausten asks, the eagerness in his voice just making this whole moment ten times better. He honestly thinks that I am capable of ever caring for someone like that, and in this sense, someone like him. He really is deluded.

It almost pains me to see him think like this. How does he not know better?

"Yeah, we were all right together," I answer, completely sugar-coating our relationship I'm trying to explain to him.

I've been staring at the ground, continuing to dig the blade into the ground, scooping the dirt out of the hole. There's a pause, which I find surprising, since Fausten always has something to say. Glancing up, I look at Fausten, his eyes widened and his face paler than usual.

"Charming," a voice sneers, but Fausten's mouth hasn't moved. "That's truly beautiful."

_Who can that be?_

Turning around, I stare down at the ground, catching the image of a gray suit first. The cuffs of his pants are all cut off, showing the bottom part of his leg and most of his ankle. Looking up, I see a long knife in his right hand, and as our eyes meet, I fall back a little.

"Blake," I mumble, scrambling to yank my knife out of the hole.

Why is he here?

It's two-on-one. Can't he see this?

Blake doesn't really think he can fight the both of us, does he?

"I'm not here to start a conversation, boys," he says, straight-faced. He has no qualm about approaching us, apparently. He's that deluded, too. Just like Fausten.

Maybe Blake and Fausten would have made better allies. There's always that option available, really. I'd be more than willing to ditch Fausten so that he can be allied with Blake.

Blake takes a step forward, I take a step back, and Fausten just sits there. Pushing all my anger for him aside, I grip the knife in my hand, clearly seeing that Blake is serious about approaching us. He wants to fight; he doesn't want to back away.

It's an interesting trait. A foolish one, but it's admirable, in a sense.

Blake extends his arm, the long knife pointed right at me. The gesture only makes me grip my knife together, the fight in me burning; I can't run… I'm not a runner. That's one thing I will never be – a runner. Nothing, especially some boy from Eight, will make me back down.

Not with Fausten on my side. He might be virtually useless, but he can be of some use at a time like this.

Fausten begins to say something, and before I can glance over my shoulder to look at him, Blake has already launched himself at me. I catch him in my arms, making the both of us collapsing; as an attempt, I try to swipe the knife forward as we can come crashing down, but it's useless. I miss his body, only tearing at the arm of his suit. His knife is somewhere, but I can't feel any pain, so that's a good sign.

I manage to push Blake off of me, but as we're both trying to get up, I take it as an advantage. I send my fist into his gut, making him buckle over, the blade dropping out of his grasp. As it falls down to the ground, I send my other fist to the side of his neck, a cough emitting from his throat. He's holding onto his neck now, frantically looking around for his knife.

"Fausten, grab it!" I exclaim, pointing at the knife, not wanting Blake to get it.

But, Fausten is nowhere to be seen. He was just behind me, wasn't he? Where'd he go? Why isn't he… helping me? That's what an ally is, isn't it? Unless he had this planned all along.

To wait until a tribute to attack, and then ditch. To only use me for the time being.

The sight of Blake bending now, shakily grabbing the knife, snaps me out of my thoughts. I can't think about that right now; my life is in danger, and someone like Fausten can't ruin that.

"Is that it?" He spits, literally. Stretching out his fingers, he wraps them around the blade now, it fitting right back into his grasp like before. Why couldn't Fausten help me out?

For once, I need help from him. That is it.

I'm distracted enough this time, and Blake swipes his knife forward, but I use it against him. I dodge the knife, sending my hand side-ways, knocking right into his arm. His knife drops, and this time, I step on it. He tries to push me away, but before he can, I plunge my knife right into his stomach.

Removing the knife, I see the blood, the color making me feel a little disgusted. He backs up, clutching onto his stomach, but doesn't give up. My foot's off the blade now, and he falls forward, his hand going for the knife one last time. I move aside, letting him fall right onto the ground, and I glance at my knife.

This is it.

My first kill.

It's just not what I expected.

Bringing the knife down, it pierces the back of his neck, the sound of him gasping being the last sound he makes. His fingers uncurl, his hands now resting motionlessly on the ground. Taking a step back, the thought of Fausten being the last of my worries right now.

"Why did you do that?" Fausten's voice reappears, and in front of me, I see him standing there.

He's just standing there.

And he's asking me why I did that?

"Why did you kill him?" He repeats, kneeling down next to Blake's body.

Fausten flinches at the sound of Blake's cannon sounding, only giving me a dirty look when he looks back up. I stare at him, the knife still in my hand, my body beginning to shake with anger.

I'm over Blake. What's there to care about? I saved myself.

But, Fausten… I don't know how I will save myself from him.

I don't know if I _can_ save myself from him.

* * *

**Avis Lowery  
District Twelve Male, 17 Years Old  
Day Five: Night**

* * *

"We'll start in five."

Aoife waves her hand, going back to her backpack and her sword. She tightens the belt around her waist, sliding the sword down into the holster. She begins rearranging things in her backpack, and honestly, no one knows what she has in that backpack. She's always rummaging through random areas, collecting random things.

It's better if I don't ask.

Glancing over to Helios and Bishop, I see them starting to pack up their things as well; starting with their backpacks and their belts, and then going to their weapons. Ever since one of them – I still don't know which one did – killed the boy from Four, Orson, they've been even quieter.

It was for the better, though. They have to realize that.

Like, with me and Joseph. I never intended on killing anyone, really, but Aoife pressured me into it. We always had our private conversations in the Capitol, with her telling me that she trusted me more than Fabian, trusted me, and wanted me to be her 'right-hand-man'. It was bullshit, for sure, but I didn't want to let her down.

I don't need someone like her being after me. As long as I stay on her good-side, the longer I'll live.

Aoife snaps her fingers, and we all position ourselves around her, each with a respective weapon. Aoife has her large sword – a claymore, I can recall her calling it –, Bishop with her throwing knives, and Helios and I with spears. Aoife told us to pick a weapon that we are most comfortable, since it all matters tonight.

The night where we take control of the Cornucopia.

Taking over the Cornucopia was some big deal to Aoife, and even though I can see why, I don't know how well it will work out. We're only down Fabian, and Coleen's alliance is down Hollis and Orson. Plus, there was another cannon before, and I know for a fact that we're all hoping it was one of them.

Preferably Cassiopeia or Coleen, but if it's Augusta, so be it. At this point, any advantage we can get is good. Anything can help us.

"Do we all know our orders?" Aoife asks, her voice stern, not the same flippant tone she usually has.

"I wait down here and take all the credit, right?" I joke, only getting a smile from Bishop.

"Not now, Avis," Aoife berates, not in a mean way, either. She just means business now. After this, she'll probably go back to the Aoife she was before.

The Aoife we all know and love.

Aoife waves her hand, and we all nod our heads, departing to our positions that Aoife assigned us. We all were assigned different positions around the base of the hill, so that when it's time, we all go up. Even though it's dark, there's still some light from the poles of the Cornucopia.

From down here, you can see the poles, with a floating orb of light of different colors above each pole. Twenty-four different colors, twenty-four tributes; we all have a color orb on top of the poles. Apparently, colorful is a theme of this arena, even though I barely know what any of it means.

Waiting in my designated area, I begin to poke the hill in front of me with my spear, making little holes in it. I'm not really sure what signal Aoife is going to give us, so I really don't know what I'm waiting for here. We've been waiting at the bottom of the hill for probably about an hour now, which isn't too long, but I kind of just want to get it over with.

I don't really expect Bishop to kill. Maybe Helios, but chances are he won't, so it's up to Aoife and me. Cassiopeia's probably going to be the only challenge here, since Coleen will be overpowered easily. But Cassiopeia… she's more of a challenge.

And challenges are something that Aoife and I won't back down from.

Helios and Bishop are just there to act as a distraction, that's what we planned. Aoife said they aren't worth more than that, and although I see something in Helios, I just went along with it.

Through the dimly-lit area in front of me, I see someone's hand waving, which I believe is Helios'. I wave to my other sided, trying to get Bishop's attention, and then she waves back to the other side. Aoife, Helios, me, and then Bishop; that's the order. The two distractions across from each other, while the Aoife and I across from each other.

I just hope that this works out.

This alliance isn't ready to lose someone else just yet.

Creeping up the side of the hill slowly, I try to see if my other allies are doing it, but I can't see anyone. I still go through with it, trying to step as slowly as I can without slipping backwards. As I reach the top of the hill, I crouch down a little, seeing the top of Aoife's head on the other side.

The Cornucopia is all open, with it looking like some tent, but without the tent over it. There are twenty-poles surrounding the supplies, with twenty-four poles reaching out to the sky and meeting at one center point. The lights flicker a little bit, but still light up the area for us to see enough.

And, at the center of it all, there are only two figures. Who died, then? It had to be one of them.

The taller girl of the two, which I know for a fact is Cassiopeia, is walking around, hovering over Coleen as she's on the ground. The cannon was definitely Augusta, then; there's no way she would be off on her own right now. Coleen stands up then, walking over to the edge of the Cornucopia, a trident in her hand. Cassiopeia clearly has a knife in her hand, which only complicates things.

We can't let them see us before they can react.

They'll pick us off before we even get close to them.

Without giving the rest of us a signal, Aoife stands up, the large sword in her hand. She waves it around a little, and from the side, Helios and Bishop stand up. I wait a moment, looking at Coleen and Cassiopeia as they notice Aoife walking towards them.

"You didn't think you could get away with it this easily, did you?" Aoife taunts, holding the sword out in front of her. "It is the Hunger Games, after all. It's not first-come-first-serve."

"Aoife," Coleen says loud enough for me to hear, gripping her hands on the trident. "You won't get away with killing Augusta, but now… now is not the time."

What?

We didn't kill Augusta; we've been together the whole day. Not one of us left at all, and we've kept an eye on each other the whole day. Who killed Augusta, then? And why does Coleen think that we did?

Cassiopeia's already off to the side, sauntering towards Bishop slowly. Shit, the weakest link of us all. If they can get past Bishop, they can run, and then that means there's not much of a fight.

I finally step onto the land equal with the rest of them, the hand with the spear shaking a little. Coleen doesn't notice me, but I know that if I throw it, I'll probably miss. My aim isn't the best, and it might even hit Aoife. I can't risk that just yet.

Coleen side-steps towards Cassiopeia, both of them going towards Bishop. Both Aoife and Helios only move forward slowly, and I follow them, going right for the center of it. But, just as we all get too close, Cassiopeia launches herself at Bishop.

"Run!" Coleen shouts, completely evacuating the area. Why is she giving up so easily?

Well, I can see why, but still. She's giving up the Cornucopia so easily, without even a struggle at all. Two versus four might not be that fair, but come on, now. We didn't do all this planning for nothing.

I can hear Cassiopeia and Bishop rolling down the side of the hill, a few yelps here and there. I run to that side of the hill, look down it, and can barely see what's going on. Bishop is sprawled out in one area, while Coleen and Cassiopeia are off to the side. Coleen has her arms wrapped around Cassiopeia, who's trying to break free and go right for Bishop.

Bishop shakily stands up, placing her hand on her head. Her knives fell somewhere, and now she's weaponless and without any allies near her. Aoife and Helios are next to me now, and as we all look down at them, Coleen shoots us a look.

Coleen pulls Cassiopeia back, who's still trying to break out of her grasp. They disappear into the trees behind them, and although I feel the need to run after them, I don't. It's over, and that was that.

At least we have the Cornucopia now. It doesn't mean we always will, though. They could come back.

Bishop makes her way back up the hill, her steps out of rhythm and heavy. She goes right for Helios, who places his hand on her shoulder, completely walking right past Aoife.

"Are you kidding me?" Aoife shouts, stabbing the blade of the sword into the ground. "Bishop?!"

"What did you want me to do?" Bishop quips, the anger in her voice something I haven't heard before. "Well, Aoife? What did you want me to do?"

"You're so useless," Aoife shouts again, her voice sounding serious this time. "Why did I even bother recruiting you in the first place?"

"Because you're desperate," Bishop deadpans, pulling away from Helios. "You just wanted to outshine Coleen, and you know it. You don't care about anyone here, only yourself."

Aoife doesn't answer back, and only bites down on her lip. Her chest rises and sinks, the shaky breathing only showing me that she's getting even angrier. I've never seen her like this before, and I don't know if I want to see it right now. She doesn't look the most stable when she's this angry.

This probably isn't good.

"I want you two gone in the morning."

Bishop stops in her tracks, looking back at Aoife. Helios stares at Aoife too, as if he's confused by what she just said. I mean, I am too, sort of. I always paired Bishop and Helios together too, but telling them to leave, that's not a good idea.

But, I won't say something.

Aoife would just tell me to leave, too.

"Excuse me?" Bishop growls, the fury in her voice. "You want us to what?"

"I want you and Helios gone," she repeats, and with this time, her voice is deep. "Or else I'll kill you both tomorrow."

Kill them both? She probably would. I wouldn't put it passed her, at this point. She's killed before – the girl from Seven – and her urge to kill only seems to get worse as people make her mad. That's why I keep my mouth shut; I don't need to upset her.

I'm not that type of person – to just upset someone for the fun of it.

Not in the Games, anyway. I know when enough is enough.

_If that's the case, when will allying with Aoife have to come to an end? When will enough be enough with her?_

_Am I really safer with her than I am on my own?_

* * *

_**District Nine, Augusta Daveigh – Placed 13**__**th**_

_**District Eight, Blake Valenzuela – Placed 12**__**th**_

* * *

**Tributes Remaining:  
Careers(1): **Aoife Cosette (D1: 18: 1 Kill), Helios Villard (D2: 18: 1 Kill), Bishop Grande (D3: 18: 0 Kills), Avis Lowery (D12: 17: 1 Kill)**  
Careers(2): **Coleen Morisette (D4: 18: 1 Kill), Cassiopeia Bryony (D2: 17: 2 Kills)**  
Alliance 1: **Devan Halloway (D5: 17: 1 Kill), Fausten Fraser (D6: 18: 0 Kills)  
**Alliance 2:** Averil Disoto (D11: 15: 0 Kills), Fawn Brett (D12: 18: 1 Kill)**  
Loners: **Alecto Marcial (D5: 17: 1 Kill)

* * *

**Author's Note:**

(Rushing to write this since I forgot it okay bear with me here.)

Well, there is Daaaaay Five! Two deaths, ooh. Isn't that exciting?

**Augusta Daveigh: **She was one of my favorite tributes in this story, but okay; she had to do die. Make things interesting, you know? I had a nice time writing her, and originally, she wasn't supposed to die this early, but eh. We all die eventually.

**Blake Valenzuela:** He was fun. That's about it, hm. He was fun to write (in his own POV, and to show in others), but once again, I had to choose someone to die. I didn't have much more planned for him, so he died by the hands of Devan.

(Edit: Round Two. How dare I forget the questions? Okay let's see...)

On the story/chapter?

_Who do you think will die next? After that, it is the Final Ten. Any predictions to the Final Ten?_

And personal, yes. (Can't think of much, so hey, let's get to know each other!)

_What's your favorite movie or T.V. show? _


	19. Arena: Day Six

w w w. riotofcolorhg. blogspot. c o m

w w w. halloffamethg. blogspot. c o m

* * *

**Coleen Morisette  
District Four Female, 18 Years Old  
Day Six: Morning**

* * *

One.

Two.

Three.

One stab after another, Cassia brings back her arm, raising it a little in the air. She glances at the knife again, and then brings her arm downwards, stabbing the knife into the tree. One. Two. Three. She does this over and over again, the sound of the impact of the blade cutting through the bark resounding in my head.

One. Two. Three.

Over and over again.

Cassia pauses for a moment, her forearm shaking a little bit. She's been facing away from me, looking right at the tree, there only be a few inches from her and the tree. She lowers her head, the dull knife now sulking to her side.

"Do you feel better now?" I ask, only half-jokingly. I shouldn't purposely upset or poke fun at Cassia; I know what she's capable of. Or at least, I know at least a few things that she's capable of.

There's still a lot I just don't know about her.

And I don't really ever expect to find out.

"Why did you do it?" She asks, her voice raspy. "Why didn't we just fight them off?"

"You tell me, Cassia," I snap back, waiting for her to turn around. "Four on two, yes?"

"Bishop doesn't count," she mumbles, beginning to play with the knife in between her fingers. "Neither does Helios, and Avis isn't even a Career."

"Don't make excuses for yourself," I berate, not being able to control the words that leave my mouth anymore. "You're so fucking deluded," I mumble, and now, she turns around.

"What?" She asks, the knife grasped in her hand tightly now. "_I'm _deluded?"

I make a face, the anger bringing out childish emotions. "That's what I said."

"You are the Career leader who just had to incite some split, aren't you? You're deluded by your own leadership skills and what you wanted," she deadpans, her words striking me.

"I," the word leaves my mouth, but I stop myself before it's too late. Before I say something that I will regret, or end up with a knife to my throat; I know what type of person Cassia she is.

She won't take shit from me.

"You what?" She barks, her teeth gritted.

"I'm sorry," I mumble, not really wanting to say it, but I know I have to. I have to end this petty argument; it'll go nowhere. We'll go back and forth, until Cassia decides to leave.

But, I can't let her leave. Not yet.

This alliance isn't over just yet. We still have some unfinished business to take care of.

"You're sorry?" She guffaws, throwing her head back. "You're sorry!"

Standing up, I turn my back, trying to ignore the sounds of her snickering to herself. I wave my hand, gesturing that I'm going to go for a walk, not really caring if she sees me or not. I'm sure she knows that I wouldn't just get up and leave. I'm too far into this alliance with her for me to just leave.

For me to just abandon her.

Walking forward, I duck under the lime colored branch, not looking back at Cassia. I can't hear anyone behind me, so at least she isn't following me. She's probably having a nice alone time, too; she could use it. Dodging the small rocks or bushes on the ground, I walk forward, dragging the end of the trident shaft along the ground.

I could really use some time alone. Cassia becomes a handful often. The way she speaks, the way she acts – just everything about her. It's hard to handle.

Trust me, I don't have any emotional connection with her, but she's an interesting companion choice. She's been there if I ever needed something, although that's rare, and she keeps me company. It's sort of like the way District Four was; people surrounding me, yet I didn't feel much for them.

They were just… they were just there.

And I accepted that. I always figured that I can't trust people too much, mostly because they're fickle. I can't control their feelings or emotions, so how should I trust them? One day, they could like me, but the next, they could hate me. That doesn't stop me from talking to people; it just stops me from forming any relationships.

It just wasn't worth it in the end.

And I've made sure to maintain that mantra with Cassia. She's there for the time being, but in no way do I trust her. If anyone, I trusted Orson more than anyone in my alliance. Until he went delirious, that is. I still don't know what happened with him, really. I still think about it from time-to-time; like the way District Four feels about it all.

It really wasn't my fault, was it?

I was just doing what I had to do. And chasing after him wasn't on my agenda. It was decision to leave, so why should have stopped him? Although I don't have answers to a lot of this, it shouldn't matter.

He's dead. Just like Hollis and Augusta.

_Augusta._

Aoife, that's who killed her. That's what Cassia said. It was during yesterday at about this time, and Cassia said she saw something. Her and Augusta went off, and when she came back, one of them was missing. For a moment, I was hoping that it would be Cassia, but of course, it wasn't. It was Augusta who was missing.

The one thing I did notice, though, was that Cassia had blood on her knife. Something had to happen, didn't it? It was Aoife, I'm sure of it. Then she took the Cornucopia later that day.

Quite frankly, I'm not too upset about it. I mean, now we don't have supplies or any more weapons, but I didn't do it because I was scared. I'm just not stupid. We both would have died; me and Cassia, that is. Maybe we would have taken one of them out, too, but it's doubtful.

Cassia started to fight with Bishop, so I had to literally drag her away. Cassia has no sense of self-control, so I felt obligated to help her. And now, she's upset with me; for what, exactly?

Because I saved her?

I don't see the problem. She would have died. When she was distracted, they could have thrown a spear or something at her, easily killing her. Then what? I would have been on my own, and honestly, Cassia would probably expect me to avenge her or some shit.

Yeah, like that's going to happen.

I'm just going to take on four other tributes, all on my own.

Pausing at a tree, I start to chuckle, looking back where I just was. I don't see anything, not even Cassia's tall frame. Poking the tree with the trident, it scratches it a little, the under color of the bark being lime too. All of this lime is just making me sick. Rolling my eyes, I calm down a little bit, knowing that it's time to go back to Cassia.

There's no way I could just run away.

I might have rejected all of their help earlier in the Capitol or Games, but at this point, I realize that I need her. I don't want to be friendly or amiable with her, but I need her. I need for my own sake; for my survival, that is. She's there to protect me, and in return, I have to protect her.

That's the point of an alliance, isn't it?

To have each other's back?

I just hope that when the time comes, I have enough time to run. I wouldn't want to deal with Cassia when she's in her prime. She's… she's something, alright. She isn't normal, for a loss of words.

Cassia's doing her own thing, and I don't blame her, since we're all in the Games for different reasons. I'm in no place to judge her, am I? I'm here to win too.

We all are, after all.

We all just want to win.

But, eleven of us can't win – only one can.

And that one will be me.

There's no other choice.

* * *

**Fawn Brett  
District Twelve Female, 18 Years Old  
Day Six: Afternoon**

* * *

"Does the black frighten you at all?"

"Why would you ask that?" I respond, stopping in my tracks. "We'll be out of it soon, I just have to remember which way we came from."

Shrugging, she begins to bite into one of the apples we've picked. "It's just that I don't feel safe here."

"Safe?" I repeat, continuing to walk. "Why wouldn't you?"

"Don't worry about it," she says, smiling. "I'm sure we'll be fine."

Why wouldn't we be safe?

It's just like any part of the arena.

Maybe she's just scared of the darkness of this section. It's all black, but there is some light, but not much. This is the last tier of the mountain so maybe that might be it too; we're so far away from everyone else in the arena. I can still understand her, though; the black trees, black grass, and black water all make me feel weary.

It is a little ominous, now thinking about it.

"This is twenty-four, isn't it?" I ask, putting my hand on the bark of a tree. "Black is the twenty-fourth color, so that means this is the last tier of the arena."

"Yes, this would be the twenty-fourth color," she replies, leaning her body against the same tree.

The colors haven't been something I've kept track on. I mean, I've counted twenty-four of them, I just don't know the order of how they go. All I know is that right now we're in the black-portion, and before we were in the peach-portion. We're in the color of my suit, black, today.

Time isn't something I've kept track of, either.

It has to be at least Day Five or Day Six of the arena, but which one, I don't know. Time-keeping isn't important to me anymore; it doesn't how matter how long we survive, it just matters that we are surviving.

We, as in, Averil and me.

I want her to survive just as much as I want to survive.

Stopping my tracks, I spin around, taking in my surroundings. It's all black… without much light being shed into the area, either, but it'll do. I'm not really sure what I'm looking for here, but there has to be something.

It's the last tier of the arena.

Twenty-four.

Shouldn't there be some prize? Some reward? We got this far, and the only way is back now. There's nowhere else to walk, except right into the force field; and that might not be the best idea. Putting my hand out behind me, I feel it touch Averil, and I leave it there, my arm blocking her from going ahead of me.

There are some noises, like the snap of a branch of the kicking of a pebble. That was in ever tier, though, probably from the muttations and whatnot. But, in this one, it seems to be more often and louder. Turning around for a moment, I try to see if I can still see the tops of the last area, but I can't.

It's all black.

And, for a moment, I finally get a little nervous. If something happens to one of us, both of us would probably go down with it. It's too far to run anywhere, and too dark so that we'd be seen easily. This wasn't the best idea now that I'm thinking about it.

"Let's starting heading out," I state, turning my shoulder to the edge of the arena. "That's the edge."

"Are you sure? We came all this way for nothing," Averil starts, but soon drifts off, staring off into the distance.

Nodding, I begin to walk again, not really paying any attention to see if Averil's following. I just walk, kick the occasional pebble, and drag my bow along the ground. The black dirt beneath me barely has any trace of us walking, and although that might be a good thing, I don't think anyone would come this far.

It was a long walk, and honestly, it wasn't worth it.

I just wanted to see what was here.

"Fawn!" I hear a scream, and quickly, I recognize the voice. It's Averil.

Spinning around, I slip one of the remaining arrows out of the sheath, drawing it onto the bow-string. I recollect myself, setting my eyes on where the scream came from, and as I finally see what's going on, I see Averil running straight towards me.

But, there's something else with her.

It's… it's a spider. Like the ones from the mines after they exploded. The spiders that swarmed over me, their legs making my skin burn and itch. This whole scene reminds me of the mines; the black forest, just like the coal and dimly lit area.

It's all like the mines, but that doesn't mean I can run.

I faced my fear of being in the Hunger Games, so I can face the fear of spiders.

It's abnormally large, with the legs being about the size of me altogether. It's all black, except for the peach colored eyes and the peach colored large 'X' on its back. The peach is just like Averil's suit, while the black is just like mine and the forest we're in. I don't know if that has anything to do with it or if it's just coincidental, but it doesn't matter.

Backing up a little, I wait for Averil to move out of the way, her small figure coming closer and closer. The large spider follows, pushing over any trees that get in its way. There's the sound of collapsing trees and rocks and dirt flying everywhere, but I ignore it, ready to aim the arrow.

Averil realizes what I'm doing, and she jumps to the side, and once she's out of range, I let the arrow fly.

I watch it soar through the air, the metal of it reflecting some of the sunlight. It pierces the spider right in one of its eyes, and it stops for a moment, its body making some gurgling sound. The color in the pierced eye fades, now turning black as well, but the other one is still fine.

Averil meets up with me, and as I feel her hand on mine, I run.

This was never safe, and it was my idea to come here in the first place. This is my entire fault.

Looking behind me, I see that the spider is catching up; there's not enough time. It's either we have to fight our way through it, or we can die by it. I stop running, loading another arrow on the bow-string, and aim it. The spider is moving too much now, and I follow it, but it's too swift for me to hit it. Averil is standing by me now, her boomerang in hand, the look in her eyes telling me that she's scared.

And I am scared too.

"I'm sorry," I mumble, preparing to shoot the arrow. "I am so sorry, Averil."

Before Averil can speak, I release the arrow, the sight of it piercing the spider's face not doing much for me. It still tramples towards us, and before I can try to get another arrow, it finally reaches us.

With my left arm, I use all my energy and push Averil away. She goes flying into the bushes nearby, leaving me and the spider face-to-face. Running would be pointless now; it'd get me either way. Looking at Averil one last time, I smile to her and wink.

Maybe she can get through this. She has what it takes.

As I'm looking at Averil, the spider rams right into me, the weight of its body pushing me down. I collapse, trying to fend it off with the bow, not any arrows. I hold the bow out in front of me, trying to push it away, but it weighs too much and I'm too restrained.

The weight keeps pushing down on me, and my body begins to ache. The spider raises one of its legs, the black color of it just fading in with the background. As the leg comes down, I close my eyes, knowing that it's futile now.

I lost the Hunger Games.

I knew it was coming all along, but I never accepted it. I never wanted to accept it… I'm too young to die. We all are too young, after all. Especially Averil.

_I lost the Hunger Games,_ I think again, repeating the same words over and over. _I lost the Hunger Games._

_I lost the Hunger Games. _

* * *

**Fausten Fraser  
District Six Male, 18 Years Old  
Day Six: Night**

* * *

Father always told me that I can't trust people.

That people will always undermine you, only using you for personal gain or for personal satisfaction. I complied with his words, never trusting anyone. Trust was always a silly thing to me, anyway, so it was easy.

To not trust anyone, that is.

People are fickle and are susceptible, so how could I expect to trust someone? How could I just put my life in someone else's hands? It's all so asinine.

So, so asinine.

But then, people like Devan come along. Someone who I thought I could trust, but I was mistaken. We seemed to get along just fine in the Capitol, but once we hit the Games, things changed. Devan got moody, and I tried to calm him down, but nothing worked. I just think it was the pressure of the Games.

Maybe he finally realized what the Hunger Games are. I had that realization a long time ago, while Devan was lacking. I always wanted the best for him, but he's a changed person now.

Devan's a murderer. He killed a person – not just a person, but a teenager.

He killed the boy from District Eight, Blake.

How could I trust someone like that?

Someone who would just kill. Blake didn't even make the first move, or from what I saw. I went into hiding during the fight, since I didn't want it to be true. I didn't want to see Devan kill someone.

Yet, he did. I thought he was better than that.

But, I was wrong once again. People are not always what they seem, and with Devan, I never would have expected it. He was always so quiet and so indifferent to everything, so why kill? What did he get out of it?

Another day to live?

It's all irrelevant now. He killed, and that's all that matters. There's just no way I can trust him anymore, not after that. And Father said that if you don't want someone in your life anymore, you have to get rid of them. You have to push them away and give them a reason to not come back.

Father told me to always put myself first, never anyone else.

And so, I have to put myself first in this situation. If Devan was so prepared to kill Blake, he's more than prepared to kill me. Chances are he'll try to kill me now, since he's already started a chain of events. After he killed Blake, we got into a little argument, and that only proved that Devan doesn't like me.

He never really did. He was just using me, like Father said someone would. Father is always right.

And I know what comes next – the part where I have to remove Devan from my life. It's not just some simple gesture; I can't just ditch him and run away. I can't tell him that I want him gone or that I don't want him to be here anymore.

It's much more than that.

I have to kill him. I have to kill Devan before he kills me.

Before he kills another person.

It's the only thing I can do at this point.

Holding up the vial of poison, I look closely at it, the thick liquid barely moving in it. I shake it a little bit, the liquid only smearing a little on the side. It's red, just like Devan's suit. I got it from the Cornucopia; being one of the only things I actually got from it, but I knew it would come in handy.

I just never thought I'd have to use it on Devan.

Kneeling down before Devan, I breathe quietly, trying not to wake him up. His knife is still lying next to him, being in the reach of his hands, so I move it to the side. Looking back at Devan's face, I see that his mouth is already open, seeing his breath in the air. It's cold tonight, much colder than any other night.

Taking the top off the vial, I hold it over his mouth, and then I pause for a moment. This is the right thing to do, isn't it? He'll kill me, only getting what he wants; to use me for survival. He's lived long enough now, and just as I started to like him, he killed Blake.

He's a murderer, and I can't forget that.

Tipping the vial forward, I watch the thick liquid slowly make its way out. I can barely see the red color from this angle, and as I tip it forward more, it just looks black. I hold my breath, the liquid finally reaching the rim of the vial.

He'll be dead before he knows it.

The liquid drips out of the vial, the liquid taking a while to reach his mouth. As it finally goes into his mouth, I turn the vial completely upside-down, letting the rest of it come out.

And then it's over.

The liquid touches the back of his throat, Devan's eyes snapping open. His body is already paralyzed by the poison, and he can't move, only being able to look at me. The white parts of his eyes turn a dark color, and I can't tell if he's looking at me anymore.

It's better if he's not.

I don't want to look at him.

Standing back up, I watch as Devan's body begins to shake a little, his legs and arms beginning to sprawl out. Turning my back, I pick up his knife, looking at it one last time. Devan murdered with this weapon, and even holding it makes me feel wrong.

There's probably still Blake's blood on it.

I look back at Devan, his skin turning a dark color like his eyes. Holding the knife over his head, I look down at him, and then stab the knife into the tree behind him. I hear a gurgling sound, and then the sound of something swooshing inside of him. I can't really describe it, but I don't want to.

I've already seen and heard enough.

I pick up my backpack, dropping the vial on the ground. Although I'm weaponless now, it doesn't matter; I don't want to fight anyone. I might have killed Devan, but it was for different reasons. I killed because I had to. He killed because he wanted to.

There's a big difference.

My murder was justified, while his wasn't.

And that's what makes me feel guiltless. Devan is just paying the price for murdering someone in front of me. By killing, he showed me his true colors; that he was just using me. That he would kill if he had to, so what would stop him from killing me?

I had to kill him. If I didn't, he'd kill me.

And Father wouldn't want that.

* * *

_**District Twelve, Fawn Brett – Placed 11**__**th**_

_**District Five, Devan Halloway – Placed 10**__**th**_

* * *

**Tributes Remaining:  
Careers(1): **Aoife Cosette (D1: 18: 1 Kill), Avis Lowery (D12: 17: 1 Kill)**  
Careers(2): **Coleen Morisette (D4: 18: 1 Kill), Cassiopeia Bryony (D2: 17: 2 Kills)  
**Alliance 1: **Helios Villard (D2: 18: 1 Kill), Bishop Grande (D3: 18: 0 Kills)**  
Loners: **Alecto Marcial (D5: 17: 1 Kill), Fausten Fraser (D6: 18: 1 Kill), Averil Disoto (D11: 15: 0 Kills)

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Hey there! There is Day Six; with nine tributes remaining.

I'll tell you now that there are only six chapters left (5 Games, 1 Epilogue), so that means there are 25 chapters all together. 25 is a lovely number, isn't it? Yeah, it is.

**Fawn Brett: **She might have become a tad like Katniss, but I liked writing for her. I didn't incorporate some of her (don't take it personally, I just never found a good place to say it and how to work it in. I did mention it, though, just not a large degree.) I liked writing her, since she was a more normal and relatable character, but either her or Averil had to die. Fawn's time was running out, so now was a good time to kill her.

**Devan Halloway: **He was all over the place with me. I wanted him to go down one route, but then stuff happened and then I wanted something else. So, he ended up with Fausten, and now he's dead. It's a nice cycle, isn't it? He did bring out Fausten's character and to a certain degree, Alecto's character. I really wasn't sure what to do with him, so I did what I could and in my mind it worked out.

Question (that I won't forget this time.)

_Any ideas on the Top Five? Who won't make it? Who will make it?_

And that personal question.

_What's your favorite animal? _


	20. Arena: Day Seven

w w w. riotofcolorhg. blogspot. c o m

w w w. halloffamethg. blogspot. c o m

* * *

**Alecto Marcial  
District Five Female, 17 Years Old  
Day Seven: Morning**

* * *

I still remember the day my friend, Dina, asked me a question.

She asked what would happen if I was ever reaped into the Hunger Games.

I shrugged it off, the thought of me being reaped seeming surreal. I was about sixteen at the time, so it was a while ago, but I just wish that I knew this would happen before hand. Maybe then I could have prepared or something.

Because, then, I might have seen this coming.

The Games, that is.

I was never a fan of the Hunger Games; I mean, who would be? Does anyone really enjoy the Games or get satisfaction from them? Probably not, but personally, I find it warped. Warped in a sense that it's not what most people expect and I can tell everyone that from first-hand experience.

They're worse than they seem.

Most people – even I did before the Games – think that when you go into the Games, everything changes. I mean, everything does change, but not to the degree people think. You don't just put your life on the line in the Games, you put your sanity. It's not just a physical Games; no, it's much more than that.

It's an emotional game, too.

One that can play with your emotions, making you feel something that you wouldn't have back in whatever District the tribute comes from. You feel new things, things that no one should ever wish upon someone.

Guilt is just one of those many feelings.

And guilt is something I constantly feel.

Perhaps the guilt is still over Rionach's death, but I've come to a conclusion on that. I still feel like it was my fault that she died; technically, it was my fault, but it really wasn't. Now looking back at it, it was completely my fault, but it just came as a shock. I never thought I could kill.

I never thought that I could just… that I could just take someone's life.

What makes their life less important than mine?

I understand why now. I thought too selflessly then, and now, I think differently. I did for my own life, and if I didn't, my face would have been the one in the sky. What made it feel worse was that Rionach might've won it. She had the edge, but then I took it away from her.

I stripped her of any chances that she had.

And that's what hurt the most. That I ruined District Six's chances, but what about District Five?

They still have a chance. It's all down to me now, since Devan somehow perished last night. I wish they told you how each tribute died, since I feel like I need some closure about it. It just leaves me wondering.

Wondering about the unknown.

But, I have to learn to live with. People die in the Hunger Games; that's the point. I can't know how every single person died, and I shouldn't have to. I'm not here to worry about anyone else's problems, am I?

I'm here to save myself.

There's the sound of a bird chirping, the fluttering of wings following it. I look around in the sky, only seeing the bright sun shining down on the beige colored trees. The beige isn't the most appealing cover, but it's kept me cover for most of the Games. After the incident with Rionach, I fled.

I ran as fast as I could and as far as I could.

So, I ended up here, and I've stayed here ever since.

Only a few people have passed few here, but who, I'm not sure. I only heard occasional voices and foot-steps, but I never did anything about it. I might have killed Rionach, but that was just by chance. I don't know if I can really kill yet.

And I don't really plan on figuring that out.

Gripping the hammer a little tighter as I think about Rionach, I look up towards the sky, trying to relax myself. There are clouds in the sky, drifting away at a slow pace. Bright, beige-colored birds fly above me, not even looking down at me. It might be peaceful here, but I know it's all a delusional.

Nothing is peaceful in the Hunger Games.

As more birds begin to fly in the air, the chirping gets louder and more often. I stop for a moment, trying to see what direction the birds are going in, and I decide to follow them.

It's worth a shot.

Following the trail of the birds slowly, I make sure to stay behind a tree or a bush, not wanting to get in the way if something's there. I tip-toe quietly, still making sure to be able to see the sky above. The birds continue to pop up out of the trees, the rustling of leaves distracting me a little from their chirps.

As I get closer, I see a few birds land on the ground.

I place my hand on the tree in front of me, balancing myself a little. I lean to the side, trying to see past the bushes in front of me, where the birds are all lying. I crouch down, beginning to walk towards that area, my curiosity getting the best of me.

What could be over there?

As I approach the area, I hide behind a bush, peeking through the opening in the twigs and leaves. In front of me, there seems to be a flock of birds, some flying and some on the ground. There's a figure in front of them, and as I look closer, I see who it is.

It's Fausten from District Six.

Rionach's District partner.

Devan's ally.

Standing up without thinking, Fausten sees me, his eyes widening at the sight of me. The birds seem to be cornering him, backing him up right against a tree. I step around the bush, the hammer held out in front of me, the question over Devan's ally repeating in my mind.

Fausten waves his hands in front of him, the birds not yet realizing that I'm behind them.

"I have a problem," Fausten calls out, causing the birds to chirp uncontrollably.

Fausten points to me, and once the birds turn around, they start to flap their wings. I back up a little, and behind me, I can hear more chirps. The birds have landed behind me now, their wings held out to the side. They won't let me escape.

I'm stuck here… I'm stuck here in front of Fausten.

This doesn't mean… no, no. I can't kill again. I can't even fight.

From behind me, the birds begin to prance forward, their wings still head out to the side. The colors of the birds just blend in into the background, except for their silver colored eyes. I back up, and as I look back at Fausten, I see that we're getting closer and closer.

No… no. This can't be happening.

If I run, the birds will get me. And if I run in Fausten's direction, he'll get me.

"What are they doing?" Fausten asks, and I ignore him, only gulping in response.

I turn back to Fausten, still walking forward as I hear the pitter-patter of the birds coming closer. Fausten backs up too, heading right for the tree behind him. But… but something doesn't feel right.

Why would they corner him into that tree?

On both of the sides of tree, there are birds, and above where he is standing there are birds. Birds are surrounding him, but not me… Why not me?

And that's when I see it.

The grass is elevated slightly in front of the tree. It's a trap. It has to be a trap.

But, if I tell Fausten, we might get into more trouble with these birds. And if I don't… he'll die. He'll die at the hands of me, again. Just like Rionach did.

I'll be responsible for the death of both of District Six's tributes.

No… I just got over Rionach's death. Please don't make me witness Fausten's too. _Please._

As Fausten takes his last step backwards, his foot steps onto the pressure pad, the sound of mechanics working underneath it making both of us stop. I gasp, the sight of several holes opening up in the tree behind him.

And then it happens.

Spear-type weapons shoot out of the tree, impaling Fausten from behind. One of them goes right through his head, another through his stomach, and two more through both of his legs. I freeze, the hammer nearly slipping out of my fingers, but I latch onto it.

"Fausten!" I shout, knowing that it's useless.

_Boom!_

"Fausten!" I shout again, about to run over towards him, but the birds block me.

It's their fault… not mine. It's their fault this time.

I didn't kill him.

I wouldn't have killed him… Killing Rionach was one thing, but that was out of my hands. This one would have been all me, but I wouldn't have done it. I wouldn't have killed Devan's ally.

"You," I mumble, staring down as one of the birds hops over to me. "You killed him! I didn't kill him!"

The bird chirps in front of me, and before it can make another sound, I bring my hammer down on it.

The blood squirts out to the side, getting all over the front of my suit. I ignore the blood and the smell, continuing to bring my hammer down on the bird's body. It's squished now, and I keep doing it, the gruesome image not scaring me anymore.

"I didn't kill him!"

Between every sob, I bring down the hammer, just beating flattened meat and skin now. It wasn't my fault… it was the bird's. They lured him to the trap.

I didn't have anything to do with it…

This isn't happening.

_This can't be happening._

_Not again._

* * *

**Aoife Cosette  
District One Female, 18 Years Old  
Day Seven: Afternoon**

* * *

When I volunteered for the Games, I never thought this would happen.

That I'd think of District One so much. That whenever I'm not doing something – hunting tributes, gathering food, or training with weapons – I'd think of it so much. The way it looked, the way the people acted, or how the atmosphere was. Or the way my life was and how it turned out, or maybe even about my family and friends.

Those thoughts always seemed petty and trite to me, until I sit down and have peace and quiet in the Games. That's when I begin to reflect on everything, and as much as I hate that feeling, I can't help it.

District One was competent, I'll give it that. I liked it for that reason; it always presented me with some new challenge that I had to deal with, especially at the Training Centers. It was always thrilling to beat someone else, to see their disappointed faces as I stand over them with the plush spear at their throat. That will always be one feeling I won't get rid of.

The feeling of… the feeling of success. That I can do something productive with my life.

District One was never full of weaklings, and it still isn't. Compared to the others – like Eleven or Twelve – District One is one of the best, and to a lesser degree, so is District Two. The citizens embrace danger so well, that nothing scares them anymore. The outer-Districts just complain and whine, or at least, that's what I've heard.

The lifestyle of One – the adult professions and occupations – could have been a little better, but it didn't detract from the District overall. I just wish other people saw District One for what it is; not some ditzy and reckless District.

We know what we're doing.

It might not seem like it at times, but we are.

If Radiance can win the Hunger Games, anyone can. Seriously.

"Aoife?" I hear Avis call over, and as I look at him, I see him sitting down in front of a pole.

"Avis," I answer, my voice calm, not really knowing what he wants from me right now.

"Talk to me," he says, digging the tip of his spear into the ground. "Today's been boring."

"You think?" I retort, agreeing that today has been one of the more uneventful days. I wish something would happen, but quite frankly, I don't want to move.

I need a day like this. Just to rest and think.

I see Avis looking at me, and although I don't want to show any gratitude for him being here, I can't help but want to talk to him. We haven't really talked in the way that real friends do. We just talk strategy and what our next plan is. Plus, he's more competent than those shit-heads Helios and Bishop are, so that's something.

He's better than I thought, I'll admit. But, I'll never tell him that. He doesn't deserve anything; him still being here is enough.

"Did you like District Twelve?" I ask, the thought of Districts still in my mind. I might as well ask him a few things; knowing something about your ally can't be the worst thing that I can do.

Avis shrugs, a smirk on his face. "The weather's nice…"

"That's it?" I ask, making a face at him. "Just the weather?"

Avis sticks out his tongue, making a face back. "No, I mean… It's nice and all, but it isn't the best, you know? I've gotten used to it."

"I know what you mean," I reply, trying to picture District Twelve in my mind. All I can think of is black houses and coal mines, but still, I'm sure the weather is nice.

"So, Aoife," he says, his voice casual, and leans towards me. "Tell me all about these crazy adventures you had back in District One."

I pause for a moment, the smile creeping onto my face without much thought. I smile at him – the first genuine smile I've had my whole time in the arena – and sigh. For once, I feel happy. I feel nostalgic.

I'm not mad, or angry, or disappointed. I'm happy, yet, at the same time, I'm sad.

I'm sad about not being home.

It's time like these where I sincerely miss home. Where I miss the people who were in my life, but now, are gone. Like my mother, and in a way, my father. But, I know that my father is still alive, probably watching this right now. While my mother… she's not there. She's dead, but she's somewhere; I just know she is.

I smile, trying to push down the smile. "Fine," I say, a giggle following after. "It was in the winter some time, which month I really don't know, and we were cold. Cold in the way that you didn't want to go home, yet you wanted to go somewhere, you now?"

Avis nods, and I continue to speak, the words not coming out as quick enough as I want them to. Talking about all of this just makes me miss home even more; the Games just aren't the same.

"Well, we knew that there was this baker who always left the door open in the back, for what reason I don't know," I continue, not stopping to catch my breath. "And, so, we took it into our own liberty to just walk in. Take a snack, sit down, but then."

"But then?" He asks, and his interest in the story just makes me smile even more. Avis might suck at most things, but listening is one thing he's good at.

I guess I value him more than I thought.

"But then the guy woke up," I say, remembering the image of the drunken old man pointing and shouting at us completely. "He pointed his bottle of vodka at us, saying "You kids, get out of my house!"" I shout, trying to reinact the same voice he shouted with at us.

Avis lets out a short and low chuckle, leaning back against the pole behind me. He nods his head, gesturing for me to continue.

"And then, we were running," I say, shrugging. "I've never ran so fast in my life."

"From?" He asks, and I laugh.

"The Peacekeepers, duh," I say matter-of-factly. "They aren't the most lenient people."

Avis opens his mouth to speak, and as I recollect myself from thinking of District One, I realize what I'm doing. I can't just talk about those things like that; it doesn't matter, does it? No, it doesn't. I'm in the Hunger Games now.

And I can't go back to District One, no matter how much I think of it.

Even if I win, everything will change.

Nothing will be the same.

So, I have to start acting like it.

Shaking my head, I stand up, frantically waving my hands. "I'm sorry," I say, my voice shaking a little bit. "I shouldn't have told you anything."

Avis narrows his eyes, standing up with me too. "What? Why?"

"It's none of your damn business," I deadpan, the smile ripped off my face. "That's why, Avis."

But, I wish it was. I wish it was his business.

I wish I could tell him everything. I wish I could just talk about myself; all the things I've been through, the memories I have, and everything else in between. But, I can't. I'm not here for that.

I didn't volunteer to make a friend… a friend that will have to die.

And that's the way I have to think.

I just have to get over it. All of this emotion just makes me feel weak, and weak is not something I want to feel. I can't feel weak, not after everything I've been through; not just in the Games, but also in real life.

The loss of my mother… the way my family coped with it… the way I acted… and now, in the Capitol and the Games. It's all coming back to me now, but I still cannot be weak. If I'm weak, there's no chance I can win… and winning is why I'm here.

I'm here to be a victor.

And victors are _never_ weak.

* * *

**Cassiopeia Bryony  
District Two Female, 17 Years Old  
Day Seven: Night**

* * *

_I love you._

Those were Peterian's last words.

That is what he said to me, right before the Peacekeepers made him leave me alone. Before we bid our final good-byes, and when I watched him walk out of the room, shutting the door behind me. The door closed, the sound ringing throughout the room.

But, no one was there. It was just me. As much as I wanted Peterian to come back, he couldn't… it was time for him to go. It was time for both us to go, but I still haven't forgotten that moment. It came as such a shock to me, the words tasting like _poison_ in my mouth as I repeated them.

_I love you._

It's all it took. It's all it took to give me that extra push, to tear my insides apart. I wanted to tell him that I – the freak, they all say, or the girl that is an animal, not a human – can love. And that I love him.

But, I lost my chance. So now, I have to fight for it.

And that's what I intend to do – fight for my chance with Peterian. Fight for my chance to make myself known, not as the girl who killed her family, but as the girl who won the Hunger Games.

A victor. That's what I want to be known as.

A victor that has someone to come back to, other than their family. I don't have family anymore, and friends… they are nonexistent. I only have Peterian. I just hope that he feels the same way after seeing all of this.

I never thought about it much… but, as the Games go on, I have. I'm doing this for him, can't he see? So why would he judge me now? He wouldn't.

He's never judged me.

Ever since we met in that Hospital those few years back, we clicked immediately. I thought that he was some normal boy, just trying to use me like the rest. Just to get to know me, just to end up publicly humiliating… just like they all did. But, he was different. He was a good kind of different.

We were similar, in a way.

He was a murderer – the details, I don't know of, but I just knew that he was in the same Hospital for the same reasons. He killed someone and I killed a few people, so that's why we meshed so well. It all makes sense.

Some people have their qualms, but I don't care about them. I never cared about people as it is, except for Peterian. I don't care for him in that mushy way where I'm head over heels, but for the reason that he gets me. That we're so similar and that he won't judge me.

That he accepts me for who I am.

And that's why I love him back.

"I love you," I mumble, my hands shaking as they rest on my knees. "I love you, Peterian."

"Did you say something?" Coleen calls over, making me flinch a little, the sound of her voice going right through my ears.

"Oh – oh," I stutter, grabbing the knife nearby. "No, no, I was just thinking."

"You were talking," she says, her eyebrow raised.

"No I wasn't," I say back quickly, my voice serious. Coleen makes a face, turning back to rummaging through her backpacks.

Pushing myself off the fallen tree I'm sitting on, I grab my own backpack, walking over towards Coleen. I sit down next to her, watching her place everything in the backpack neatly. Whatever it is that we both have left, since after Aoife's group took the Cornucopia, we have nothing.

Maybe if Coleen would've listened to me, things would have turned out different.

One of them could have died.

That Bishop girl. She could be dead right now, but no, it wasn't time. It wasn't time? What does that mean again, Coleen? I'm not too sure she quite gets it yet.

You kill whenever you get the chance.

You don't just wait for _them _to kill you first. That's not how it works.

Feeling myself getting all worked up, I think of Peterian again, his words calming down my body peacefully. I look back at Coleen, who's staring at me, looking like I'm disrupting her alone-time.

"Oh, I'm sorry," I spit, angered by the fact that she just ruined any chance of us becoming friendly. "Am I interrupting something?"

Coleen grabs onto my cuff of my suit, pulling me back down a little. Today, she's been very gentle and hasn't said much. I'm not quite sure why, but maybe because it's been an easy day. There was only one cannon early this morning, but we know for a fact it wasn't caused by Aoife's group. We watched them from the bottom of the hill for a little bit, and although I tried to climb the hill at one point, Coleen pulled me back down. She hurt herself a little bit, stepping off the hill a little awkwardly, but I'm sure she's fine now.

She just won't let me have my way.

We'll see how far that gets her.

I sit back down on the ground, and Coleen removes her hand, placing it back in her lap. She plays with them a little bit, trying to warm them up, I guess. Tonight's been getting colder and colder, and even though I'm fine, Coleen isn't. She can deal with it, I'm sure. She didn't volunteer to die of hypothermia.

Or, at least, I hope she didn't.

I'd pity her if she died from hypothermia. That'd just be pathetic.

"What do you want?" I ask, not trying to disguise the anger in my voice. "Get your beauty sleep."

"Oh, stop that," she says, chuckling a little. "I just want someone to talk to."

I crane my neck, trying to see if she's being serious. She's never like this; she rarely ever comes near me. I'm not saying that I don't enjoy the way she's acting, but something's off. Looking her up and down, I see something besides the flashlight in her lap. It's a capsule of some sort.

"What's that?" I ask, pointing at the flashlight.

"A flashlight?" She asks, her words slurring a little bit.

I roll my eyes, waving my hand. "Next to it."

"Medication," she says, her voice in a hushed tone. "For my ankle."

Nodding my head, I recall this morning, where she stepped on her ankle awkwardly. She slipped or something when trying to pull me back, and honestly, it would have been better if she just didn't touch me. I would have killed someone, and she wouldn't have gotten hurt.

"Are you okay?" I feign interest, just finding amusement from her talking now.

"Why wouldn't I be?" She asks, her voice a little too peppy, completely out of the norm for her. This medication seems to be really working.

"Oh, nothing," I smile, patting her on the back.

"That tickles," she giggles, shimmying her shoulders a little.

Apparently, the medication's made her all loopy. She's clearly tired and from the look in her eyes, she isn't all there. Maybe it's a good thing; maybe now she'd make some sense when talking or planning something. Only if she was like this earlier.

Coleen giggles, and I smile at her, seeing her shiver.

She's like a child. She's acting like a child now, all happy and giddy. Seeing her like this just makes me feel… it makes me conflicted. I could kill her now. I could simply kill her quickly while she's like this; she barely knows what's going on.

So, why won't I?

Why won't I just kill her?

I'll have to do it eventually, so why not now?

I know exactly why. It's because Peterian might be watching right now. And if I betray an ally, he might not want to be with me. He might not love me or trust me anymore… that's why I can't kill Coleen. Not now.

_Cut the shit, Cassia. You didn't volunteer to be afraid of some girl from Four. _

_You volunteered to kill._

_You volunteered to win._

And so I will.

* * *

_**District Six, Fausten Fraser – Placed 9**__**th**_

* * *

**Tributes Remaining:  
Careers(1): **Aoife Cosette (D1: 18: 1 Kill), Avis Lowery (D12: 17: 1 Kill)**  
Careers(2): **Coleen Morisette (D4: 18: 1 Kill), Cassiopeia Bryony (D2: 17: 2 Kills)  
**Alliance 1: **Helios Villard (D2: 18: 1 Kill), Bishop Grande (D3: 18: 0 Kills)**  
Loners: **Alecto Marcial (D5: 17: 1 Kill), Averil Disoto (D11: 15: 0 Kills)

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Oh, quick update. Next one will probably be some time during the weekend. So, that concludes Day Seven!

Right to the obituary-things:

**Fausten Fraser:** Wow, okay. He was really different, and when I say really, I mean it. When I first got him, I was like "wut?" but then I started writing for him. My writing style with him was different (or at least to me, since his voice was so unique and his thought process was completely different.) I enjoyed writing him, and although I did think he played his role, his time was up. After he killed Devan, that's all I could do. And then we saw some more of Alecto, so I needed him to interact with her character. Cycle of life, once again.

Questions!

_So far, out of any chapter, what was the most expected death? The most unexpected death?_

And that personal question. Now this question is really important.

_If you were in Katniss' position, would you volunteer for your sibling if he/she were reaped? _


End file.
